


Needs of the Other

by dr_libra_phd



Series: You and I [1]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dubious Consent, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Forced Prostitution, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Insecurity, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protectiveness, Secrets, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:28:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 53
Words: 145,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27808345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dr_libra_phd/pseuds/dr_libra_phd
Summary: Running out of coin and food, Nicolo thought he needed to make a hard choice. When Yusuf finds out, he will do everything he can to save Nicolo from breaking. The road to recovery after will form a stronger bond between them.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: You and I [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2179578
Comments: 121
Kudos: 257





	1. (Yusuf) - Cairo, 12th century

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/4011.html?thread=1210027#cmt1210027
> 
> Warning: my field is _not_ history, but until fandom creates a pair of utterly adorable biochemical research scientists totally in love, I am never going to have usable knowledge for fics. LOL.

Damascus reaped better opportunities.

Yusuf exhaled but kept his opinion to himself. The aftermath of the second invasion led by the two kings made Damascus and Aleppo poor options for the near future. Their libraries, their vibrant way of life, the rich veins of trade withered under the shadow of another campaign despite Damascus’s success fending off the invasion. 

It was something Nicolo was still determined to apologize for, no matter how many times Yusuf told him not to. Cairo was a poor substitution for coin when many fled here. Cairo withdrew most jobs and wealth behind its walls, leaving the city beyond its thick stone borders to languish. But at least the libraries were rich with knowledge, sadly not about their immortality. Not yet, at least. And hopefully, they would make enough coin to venture back within the city's walls to continue exploring the libraries.

“Do you need more paper?”

Nicolo stood by the doorway. There wasn’t much room with the scrolls and ink and stacks of papyrus Yusuf laid out on the table that served as both the place for meals and Yusuf’s current employment: copying manuscripts and decorating the pages with gilded ink. They were for a merchant set to sail to the eastern waters in a week.

Yusuf eyed the shrinking pile of paper by a cup of mint tea that was not there when he started. Nicolo must have set it down in the morning.

“Is it time already?” Yusuf said, trying to change the subject. He would not be paid until it is complete, but the oil for the only lamp will only last two more nights. He was forced to start early—regretfully missing his morning prayers—to catch what light the little opening on the abandoned stone home afforded. This was once a home of a family that felled by plague long before anyone can remember. Superstition kept the dwelling vacant. 

Fifty-four years ago, Yusuf might have avoided this home as well. But that was before a pale-faced invader and him locked in an exhausting cycle of death and revival for months.

Nicolo nodded. “Morning has come. It is nearly past.”

“Ah.” Yusuf smiled wryly. “I let my breakfast go cold.” He waved at his tea.

Nicolo was a quiet man, not given to many reactions more than a change in his eyes, but at this, he made a face.

“The docks pay very little,” Nicolo said by way of apology.

Yusuf scoffed. “Far more than what I do. Your wages last week was generous, far more than I expected. It bought the ink and paper I needed.” It was a shame there wasn’t much left for much food, but Nicolo insisted they did not need to buy for two people. Apparently, the docks fed their workers. Recently, Nicolo took work at night and was fed evening meals as well.

“I can get more paper...” Nicolo shifted on his feet. “And more ink?” He looked uncertain, likely tired from so many nights of work.

Yusuf ate dinner alone all last week, waking in the middle of the night to find Nicolo curled up fetal, his back to him, on the opposite pallet. Yusuf wondered why it felt easier to fall back to sleep with his eyes on Nicolo’s broad back.

Yusuf frowned. “More night work?” At Nicolo’s small nod, he huffed.

“While I am glad for the coin, I find I miss your company for evening meals.” Yusuf squinted at Nicolo.

“Do they not feed you enough?” Yusuf thought Nicolo’s cheekbones were sharper lately.

“You are remembering putting it in your mouth?” Yusuf joked.

Nicolo, as he struggled to learn Arabic, often forgets to eat the food he held in his hand, his ever-inquisitive mind fixed on the pages and not on his stomach.

Something flashed across Nicolo’s features. His eyes, the color of stormy seas, dulled as they slid away to consider the half-empty breadbasket. Yusuf set it down on the floor to make room and to not tempt his stomach. Inside it, a bowl was tipped towards them with the last egg and wedge of hard cheese left.

“Nicolo?” Yusuf rose to his feet when Nicolo made a choking noise in his throat.

“I remember,” Nicolo mumbled. He seemed to shrink into the shabby cream tunic. It hung looser around his shoulders these days. He smiled, a small quirk at the corners of his pink mouth, but it died quickly.

“If it pays well, maybe I go to market tomorrow,” Nicolo glanced over to the breadbasket and bowl. His jaw set.

“I will go to market tomorrow,” Nicolo said, his voice firmer.

Yusuf crossed over to the room. He set his hands on Nicolo’s shoulders.

“Nicolo,” Yusuf murmured. “My friend, you do so much.” He nodded, making a decision. “I will go with you to see if they want my help as well.”

Nicolo made another odd noise. Under Yusuf’s hands, a shudder went across Nicolo’s shoulders.

“What is wrong?” Yusuf’s brow furrowed. Nicolo took a step back, but when Yusuf tried to follow, Nicolo held up an unsteady hand.

“No, it is all right,” Nicolo stammered. His Arabic was stumbling, something he has not done in decades. His accent still lilted and echoed thick of his homeland, but Nicolo has not struggled with words in years since Yusuf helped him improve it.

“You should finish the...” Nicolo visibly sought for the right word. “The stele?”

“Manuscript,” Yusuf corrected mildly. Nicolo flushed like he once did when he used to mix up ‘goat’ with ‘fruit.’ Secretly, Yusuf admitted it charmed him how Nicolo could flush, his pale skin brushed with color, begging to be touched.

But right now, it was not charming. It was worrying.

“I can take a day.” Yusuf scanned their small room for his cloak. Ah, it hung over the shallow brick hearth. The concave pocket only has enough room for one pot, not that they could afford meat these days to cook, but it also served as a place for warmth. Cairo was cooler than expected when the sun crept up the horizon. Yusuf realized he did not feel chilled. Nicolo must have filled it with kindling this morning. Yusuf thought they were running low, but apparently, he was mistaken.

Another sort of warmth filled Yusuf’s chest. He smiled broadly at Nicolo.

“My eyes tire from squinting. Some physical labor would be a welcomed change.”

Nicolo’s eyes were the bleached color of a winter sea as they drifted to the table behind Yusuf.

“I will get oil for the lamp too,” Nicolo promised. He retreated another step.

“No, that is not what I mean—“

“You do beautiful work, Yusuf.”

Yusuf stopped short of the quiet words. 

“T-thank you.” Now it was Yusuf’s turn to stammer like a child. He ran ink smudged fingers through his curls, twitching as his hand snared on a tangle. Ah, a bath is in order. He eyed Nicolo’s hair. Nicolo usually pulled it back with a strap of leather from Yusuf’s old armor. But last week, he stopped. Yusuf was often distracted by how it hung against the cut of Nicolo’s jaw. He liked how smooth Nicolo’s cheeks were saved the dark dot on his lower jaw. It intrigued Yusuf more than he thought it should. He was surprised when Nicolo cleaned his short beard off with a few expert swipes of a dagger. Yusuf felt his loins stirred, remembering those long fingers and their skill with a blade.

“You like this sort of work,” Nicolo went on, oblivious to Yusuf’s daze. “If it were not for war, you would have been an artist. You are talented. You are better suited for it.”

Yusuf shrugged. His cheeks felt hot at the compliment. He tugged at his beard, disguising his attempt to check if his face was truly as hot as it felt.

“Or a merchant,” Yusuf reminded Nicolo. “My family were traders. I could have been a merchant.”

“I like you better as an artist,” Nicolo blurted. He cleared his throat. “All I know is the church and the rough work of my hands.” He smirked sadly. “Blood and death is my art.”

“I hate every time you say this,” Yusuf murmured. He longed to approach Nicolo, but his friend lingered by the doorway. Nicolo looked like a spooked horse. And part of him—the part that kept him awake at nights whenever Nicolo has not return yet—feared one day Nicolo would bolt and leave Yusuf behind in the sands.

“You have been in such a shadowed mood recently, my friend,” Yusuf exhaled.

“Tired,” Nicolo offered. His shoulders sagged.

“Tired.” Yusuf shook his head. “Will there be more night work after tonight?”

“No more,” Nicolo promised after some hesitation.

Yusuf narrowed his eyes. “You are lying to me, yes?”

“Perhaps.” Nicolo’s smile was lighter.

Yusuf cast pleading eyes towards the heavens and prayed Allah for strength.

“Begone,” Yusuf waved his hands at Nicolo. “After tonight, please, no more. We have time and opportunity to earn coin elsewhere. The need is not dire yet. I have no need for paper.”

“Now who is lying?” Nicolo shot back. A glimmer of humor brightened his eyes.

“Shoo!” Yusuf said, laughing, “Leave me to my beautiful work and failing eyesight! Do not fall off the docks and return looking like a drowned cat. I will welcome you back with mocking!”

Nicolo dropped his chin, his hair falling forward but failing to cover the smirk. He turned, casting a curious sad smile to Yusuf. He waved farewell over his shoulder and followed the steep pathway out to the town and the docks.

Yusuf was not sure why he lingered by the doorway, long after Nicolo’s shadow faded from sight. He shook his head, chiding himself for laziness while poor Nicolo stayed out until the moon hung high in the night for a small sachet of coin.

Eyes back towards the work on the table, Yusuf resigned himself to it. If they were to gain funds to travel east to find the two women in their dreams, they would need coin and plenty of it.

Yusuf sat down, his resolve returning. As he brushed a hand over the softness of a new page—he must ask Nicolo where he purchased the quality sheets at such a low price—Yusuf sent up a thought and prayer for Nicolo. He hoped his friend has a good day at work.


	2. (Nicolo) - Cairo, 12th century

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: below chapter contains dub-con between Nicolo/Other in the beginning

It felt like he pulled hair.

"...much better than the others..."

He hoped the merchant did not. The first time one did, his scalp bled and the fear of discovery of his scalp healing distracted him from the panic that the object crushing against his tongue was choking him.

But the man never noticed after he spent all over his hair, his eyes and his bruised lips.

And the coin slipped boldly into his pockets by sweaty, greasy hands smelling of cardamom. The coin was enough for a half-empty sack of loaves of bread and cheese. Even a modest slab of dried meat and a bowl of withered figs.

It was fine. Letting his hair untied covered the occasional healing scalp from notice. The bored merchants who sailed in and out of the docks seemed to like it as well.

Hands clawed the back of his ears, nails digging deep. Blood wept behind his ears and pooled sticky and hot along his clavicle. The man above him panted, breath quickening, his pace sharper and deeper.

Oh, he thought numbly. That is new.

The merchant sold gems, even boasting from as far as the Papal States. Gems, he was going to call him Gems as he dutifully dropped to his knees and closed his eyes. He did not want to know the merchant's real name. Gems sails off tomorrow. He was here recommended by Dirar. His crew dragged him off the docks and onto his ship.

Thick fingers poked his lids, pulling away from using his ears like reins to tug his face deeper into the bristly nest of hair and the...object. Gems rode his mouth like he was a horse.

"...let me see your eyes, your pretty eyes," Gems panted as he continued to grunt and jerk, his crotch colliding with his face. Rough clothing that smelled like the sea Gems arrived from scratched his smooth cheeks. He panicked. Briefly, before he remembered he will heal from any scratches. However, the stale, musky stench of white crusted into his scrape of a beard did not easily go away. It was just as well he shaved it off. He was often mocked for its poor appearance. It was easier to wash the smell off smooth cheeks before returning to Yusuf.

A hand gripped his chin. It jerked him up until his neck strained from the stretch. The object slid all the way in salty and thick. 

Air disappeared. His eyes burned as he struggled to breathe.

Hips snapped forward faster, the changed angle more painful as the object scraped the inside of Nicolo's throat and pushed his tongue over his lower teeth. His teeth cut his tongue. He gagged at the added taste of his own blood.

"I paid to see your eyes as well," Gems snarled.

Dutifully, Nicolo opened his eyes.

Gems's object in Nicolo's mouth twitched. Before Nicolo could jerk free, Gems groaned as he rammed the object deeper down his throat. Nicolo grunted around the hardness, forcing him to otherwise stay silent.

"Your eyes," Gems moaned as he spilled into Nicolo's convulsing throat. "Dirar and Khalîl were correct. It is like fucking the wretched seas."

Bitter fluid flooded Nicolo's mouth and seemed to fill his nostrils, but Gems refused to release him. He shuddered and drowned Nicolo, the object in his mouth shriveling as it emptied down Nicolo's throat like his swollen mouth was a chamber pot.

"I would pay to keep you," Gems babbled as he weakly continued to rock into Nicolo's throat. There was a brief respite from seeing Gems as Nicolo's face was crushed into the sweaty coarse hair between his thick legs. A pull and he was blind; a yank back and he was forced to stare up at the wobbly, fleshy cheeks as he gazed down at Nicolo with sick triumph.

"Keep your mouth for me, reward my crew, but alas, my wife..."

The reminder of marital obligations finally loosened Gems's grip. Nicolo jerked his head back, but too late, Gems chuckled as he splattered all over Nicolo's chin with the remnants of his release and spittle that stretched from Nicolo's lips like a thread from a web.

Nicolo dropped on his haunches, his chest heaving as he struggled not to gag, his stomach roiling at the taste.

"I also paid you to swallow."

Nicolo glared up at Gems. Gems stared back, smirking. 

His eyes lowered and his stomach clenched, Nicolo took care to show Gems he was swallowing. It was pointless: the object thrust so deep, there was nowhere else for Gems's seed to go but to curdle sour in Nicolo's belly.

A fist-sized bag of coins dropped to Nicolo's feet.

"Money well spent," Gems crooned. He shifted in his chair, the captain's seat that sat in the back of the ship's cabin like a throne. Nicolo was dragged through the ship deck, past leering, knowing faces and tossed into the cabin. Nicolo expected Gems when the sun started to descend. When the sun was half-visible in the sky, Nicolo desperately hoped it meant Gems forgot or found a more willing mouth.

Gems did not forget. And he did not care if Nicolo's mouth was not entirely willing. In fact, the merchant aroused faster than most when Nicolo struggled around his member.

But Nicolo could buy the paper now. And with some respectful haggling, one of the vendors might sell this pale face a vial of precious ink for Yusuf's beautiful art. He came back one night and found the gleaming patterns of gold and red decorating the corner of a page. Yusuf had dismissed it later. Practice, he had said, but when Nicolo held the vision on paper that night, he wept. His people rampaged into the continent to eradicate people like Yusuf, who spun such visions onto mere paper. His hands felt as crude as Gems's holding the scraps of paper.

"I do not leave until late morrow," Gems said slyly. "Perhaps you wish to break fast on my cock before my ship leaves."

Nicolo rose to his knees, willing them to lock. He straightened his clothing, pretending he did not care Gems watched him with an amused smirk. Nicolo hefted the bag of coins into his fist.

"I do not wish," Nicolo said coldly.

Gems snorted and his neck fat rolled as he shook his head.

"They were right about you," Gems murmured. "You have a fire that begs to be conquered. A proper pounding into you would snuff that fire out. I would be willing to pay a high price to be the one to break you."

Nicolo narrowed his eyes. He settled a hand over the hilt of a dagger—the other thing they allowed him to keep on him. It excited Gems the way the hilt knocked into his calves as he fucked Nicolo's mouth with his—

No, do not think about it.

"I am leaving now," Nicolo announced. He retrieved his long sword propped by the door. "We will not see each other again."

"Perhaps," Gems demurred. He did not move from his chair nor refastened his trousers. He sat, lazy and satisfied, flaunting his exposed damp genitals as Nicolo strode out the door. He ignored the dirty faces of the crew, climbed down the ramp of the ship and walked with his back straight, past the dock's planks, past the narrow strip of desert and into the market. The stalls were already shuttered. Too late, he missed market. He would not be able to get Yusuf's paper and ink. He would not be able to get food.

Nicolo stalked down the path, stopping when he was between two stalls. He could not remember whose stall it was or what it offered. They all looked the same because they were all closed, gone for the night, shuttered while Nicolo knelt in front of a gem merchant and do nothing more than—

With a sharp thwack, Nicolo's shoulder crashed into a wall as he hunched over and retched.

It felt endless. The sourness spilled out of his mouth, forced out by his cramping stomach, refusing the filth Nicolo accepted extra coin to swallow. The taste was bad as he spat, but it was worst when he had swallowed.

Nicolo hung his head, shaking as his body expelled what he refused to name. Like the object, it was nothing but a means, a tick to a tally in hopes of ever repaying such a debt, such a cost, but he could not even get paper and soon the oil will be dry and leave Yusuf in darkness. 

He should have sought Gems out sooner, not cower, hoping he was forgotten. He should have—

"Oh Nicolo..."

Nicolo started when he heard Yusuf murmured seemingly out of thin air, like a voice from the heavens finally took pity on his flawed soul.

"Easy, my friend. It is just me." Yusuf settled a warm palm on Nicolo's back, content to let Nicolo continue to try to exorcise the filth within him. Only Yusuf did not realize it was too late. Nicolo felt the slick and burning stain sinking into his bones to take residence with each bag of coin he accepted. He could disembowel himself, perhaps on Yusuf's sharp scimitar and it would not rid him of everything.

"What..." Nicolo panted. It finally felt like there was nothing more to banish from his insides. "What are you..." It hurt to talk.

"The moon is about to yield to the sun," Yusuf chided. "You have never worked this late before. I came looking, but I did not see you in the docks." 

Yusuf's frown was clear in Nicolo's ears if not sight. He blurred in the darkness and Nicolo realized his eyes were tearing as he vomited.

A cool hand slipped over Nicolo's nape. Nicolo flinched when Yusuf's fingers felt the blood there.

"What happened?" Yusuf's voice sharpened.

"Docks," Nicolo managed. He waved towards his head. "It is healed." He pressed the bag of coins to Yusuf's chest.

"I was too late for the markets," Nicolo said regretfully. "I did not get paper."

"It does not matter," Yusuf dismissed as he held up the bag of coins. He wore a strange look as he considered the coins. Was it not enough? He should have agreed to see Gems in the morning and risk people seeing him.

"I did not get the oil," Nicolo remembered as he straightened from his hunch.

"It does not matter."

"But the lamp—"

"Nicolo, it does not matter," Yusuf snapped. He sagged when he looked at Nicolo. He held up the bag of coins.

"You have never been paid this much coin before." Yusuf studied Nicolo.

Nicolo tensed. Did he not wipe his face clean on the ship? Did Yusuf see him leave the ship?

"It is...it is why I was late," Nicolo stammered. It was not a lie. Not quite.

Yusuf's brown eyes gleamed in the dark, bottomless and complicated, fixed on Nicolo like there was something interesting to see.

Nicolo's eyes drifted away.

"And why were you sick?" Yusuf prodded gently. He patted Nicolo on the back, a light tap, yet the warmth of Yusuf's hand swept over Nicolo with a soft heat. It felt wonderful and undeserved.

"Something..." Nicolo fidgeted away, mourning when Yusuf's hand slipped off his back.

"Something I ate," Nicolo mumbled. "My stomach did not like." It was also not quite a lie.

"Hm," Yusuf commented. "You do have a weak stomach, my friend."

Nicolo smiled weakly.

"You barely tolerate the stew Yazim gave us last week," Yusuf went on. He dropped a companionable arm across Nicolo's shoulders.

"I ate all of it," Nicolo protested weakly.

"Ah, because you were much too kind to refuse, but then you were sick for days after. You barely tolerate anything more solid than bread soaked in broth. You could not even eat the cheese."

Nicolo blinked. He did not think Yusuf noticed. He savored the weight of Yusuf's arm on him. It felt like it tied him to the ground, stopping him from drying up into nothing like he often felt after nights like these.

"It was the spice," Nicolo mumbled. Why did they live so far away? "Cardamom. I did not like the smell." He swallowed. "It makes me feel sick, but please do not tell Yazim. She was kind to share her food. She did not have to do that. All I did was fix her cart."

Yusuf tugged Nicolo closer. Nicolo was startled by how much he wanted to sag into Yusuf and weep for no reason at all. He was tired, that is all. He should have sought Gems out sooner, then he would not have missed the markets.

"Sought out who?" Yusuf asked as he steered them onto the right pathway.

Nicolo jerked. He nearly fell out of Yusuf's grasp.

Yusuf tugged Nicolo tighter to him, close enough, his firm shoulder bumped the side of Nicolo's throat.

"Nicolo? Sought who out?"

Nicolo closed his eyes. How was he this stupid? Babbling away like a fool! He swallowed, fighting back a gag as a lingering taste rose up to his throat.

No. Do not think about it.

Yusuf gave Nicolo a gentle shake to wake him. "We are almost home."

"Home?" Nicolo mumbled wistfully. This was a nice dream.

Yusuf chuckled, fond and warm against his temples. "Do not dream yet, my friend. We are almost there. Have a nice wash. I left you some bread and tea. Sleep and dream after that."

"I did not get the oil."

"It is fine."

Nicolo's feet were growing heavier.

"I was too late for market."

"We will go tomorrow."

"I wanted to get the spiced meat you like."

"Sh, it is all right."

"But it is not," Nicolo sniffled. "And it never will be."

"What do you mean?" Yusuf seemed to be closer yet not close enough. Was Nicolo walking? It felt like his feet did not touch the ground now.

"Nicolo, what puts the furrow on your brow?" Yusuf murmured, his sad tone too soft to be heard by anyone but Nicolo.

Nicolo dropped his head on Yusuf's shoulder. Just for a moment. Then he will return to the docks tomorrow.

"No, you will not," Yusuf growled. He sounded angry. He must be disappointed Nicolo failed to go to market. Was there enough food? Did Yusuf get to eat?

"It is fine," Yusuf murmured. "There is enough food for us both. Do not concern yourself over it."

Nicolo tried to reply, but suddenly it felt like he was floating. He blinked, confused at the sight of Yusuf's soft beard just off his nose.

"You should not be this light," Yusuf rumbled. He sounded unhappy. Nicolo should have gotten the paper and oil for the lamp after all.

Nicolo dropped his head against Yusuf's shoulder, strangely closer. He bobbed up and down, the little dwellings passing faster than before. He could not feel his feet touch the ground. He was...swaying? His muddled mind could not fathom why.

"Yusuf?" Nicolo mumbled. His eyes refused to stay open.

"Hm?"

"Are we on a boat?"

Yusuf chuckled. The sensation seemed to sink into Nicolo's belly, warm as comforting hot food.

"This is better," Nicolo murmured.

"At least this way is faster," Yusuf chuckled again.

Nicolo did not answer, sinking into the gentle sway that surrounded him.


	3. (Yusuf) - Cairo, 12th century

"I am in your bed."

Yusuf looked up from his work. He was glad for the interruption. This particular pattern on the scroll frustrated him since yesterday.

Nicolo looked laughable in his awake state. His brown hair streaked with gold from the sun were in tangles around his head, flattened on one side. He looked like a nest of vipers curled on top of his head. There was a crease visible on his cheek; he had curled on his side, burrowed his face into the folds of a woven blanket Yusuf found on his sleeping pallet the next day after he had griped about the unseasonable cold.

"Good morning," Yusuf offered, rather cheerfully despite having slept on Nicolo's bed last night. How Nicolo tolerates the draft from an unseen crack in the roof above him was a puzzle. One of many Yusuf has been finding himself wanting to decipher more and more of late.

Nicolo squinted at Yusuf, one eye still partially shut with sleep. 

Yusuf's grin widened. He could not help it; Nicolo looked ridiculous. He told his friend as much as he tossed over a damp cloth for Nicolo to wipe the sleep from his eyes.

"Why am I in your bed?" Nicolo pressed insistently as he scrubbed his face clean.

"You were too heavy to carry all the way to your own bed," Yusuf teased. And oh, that was an interesting shade of pink tipping Nicolo's ears.

"But that meant you slept on my bed." Nicolo stared at Yusuf. "It is much colder—"

"Then you _did_ know about the draft," Yusuf interrupted. "Why did you not say? This blanket should have gone to you."

The pink flush spread to Nicolo's cheeks. He went back to cleaning his face, using a damp corner to wipe around his pink mouth.

Yusuf realized he was staring, yet he found he could not look away.

"I do not mind the draft," Nicolo muttered as he swiped the cloth across his lips. "I do not complain bitterly about the cold like you."

"That is because you were born close to the—must you rub so hard? Nicolo!" 

Nicolo blinked at Yusuf, who rose to his feet at the sight of blood on his mouth. Nicolo had scrubbed furiously across his lips. The skin had split.

"You look clean enough," Yusuf tsked as he crossed over to the bed. He made a face at the bloodstained cloth. There was no way to get rid of such stains. He mentally shrugged. He will cut another out from his old tunic. Pity. He was quite proud of it, the colors dyed by his instructions before he heeded the call to defend Jerusalem. It was too worn from crossing deserts. It outlived its purpose of keeping him warm.

"Am I?" Nicolo muttered. For some reason, he stared past his legs and perhaps even out the door. "I do not feel it."

"Hm?" Yusuf glanced at the basket set by their modest hearth. Damn. One egg and an even smaller chunk of cheese. Nicolo stayed asleep even with Yusuf cleaning the blood off his nape. He did not rouse for the bread and tea. The bread was now too dry and too spotty to be salvaged again.

Nicolo followed Yusuf's eyes. He shook his head.

"I am not very hungry," Nicolo muttered.

Yusuf frowned. "You look hungry." 

"You said I look clean."

"Nicolo," Yusuf sighed. He stopped himself from brushing a hand over a pronounced cheekbone. "I have not seen you this thin since we first met." His frown deepened. "You said the docks feed you. Does what they have not suited you?"

Nicolo shrugged and his tunic, already worn and stretched, slipped, revealing the hard lines of his clavicle.

Yusuf could not stop himself. He settled a hand on Nicolo's shoulder. He felt bone and too little flesh twitch under his palm.

"We will share the egg and cheese," Yusuf decided. "We will go to the market after you eat all of it."

"I have to go to the doc—"

Yusuf's hand curled tighter on Nicolo's shoulder. His belly ached at how bone seemed to grind under his touch. 

"No," Yusuf said firmer. "We will go to market. I need more paper." And Nicolo needed food that would appease his belly and hopefully fill out the hollowness that clung to Nicolo's body. 

"And oil for the lamp," Nicolo conceded, his shoulders slumping. His entire body sagged with it. He appeared he could burrow into the blanket again.

"Very well," Nicolo grumbled as he wiggled out from the warm folds of the blanket. Too loose trousers shift, a glimpse of a swell of flesh and Yusuf found he needed to turn away, his belly hot for a reason he should not acknowledge. "We will go to the market."

"After we break fast," Yusuf reminded Nicolo.

Nicolo scowled.

"And," Yusuf chuckled, "after you fix your hair."

Nicolo's scowl turned puzzled.

"What is the matter with my hair?" 

This hour, the markets teemed with shouting and haggling, the smells of warm cinnamon and the bite of spice thick in the air. It smelled of activity, of a life he once knew, before the _snick_ of his scimitar sliced through bodies and the shouts were battle cries.

"You miss this." 

Yusuf glanced over at Nicolo. His friend appeared fairly better, brightening under the generous light of a morning sun. 

"Not as lively as the docks, I am sure. They kept you busy, but look!" Yusuf flung his arms wide, waggling his brow when a vendor's little daughter giggled at his antics. "There is nothing more wondrous than a market!" 

Nicolo chuckled, a rare sound and more delightful to hear than from the vendor's daughter. He ducked his head to avoid Yusuf's enthusiastic gesture. His brown hair covered his eyes briefly before Nicolo huffed and pushed it back from his face.

"It is indeed full of color." Nicolo agreed. He glanced about with curious eyes. "I did not realize there were so many things."

Yusuf's cheer dimmed. He was either bent over scrolls and ink or hunched over texts in the various libraries. Nicolo's grasp of Arabic and the smattering of Greek was passable for conversation, but his reading was still poor at best. It took Nicolo time. The time they both have plenty, but time that also requires coin. 

Between Yusuf's work and Nicolo in the docks from sunrise to moonrise, Nicolo never ventured further than the outer circle of the markets, purchasing what they needed and nothing more.

"Come," Yusuf announced. He dropped an arm over Nicolo's shoulders. Nicolo was almost his height, yet his friend was hunched over these days as if fearing notice. A habit born from his fair skin and light eyes. And his paleness branded him after the failed invasion of Damascus. There were vendors who would not sell to Nicolo, not when he was alone. 

Yusuf gestured towards the entirety of the market. "Let me show you so much color, you will be blinded by it."

"Sounds painful," Nicolo returned dryly but let Yusuf steer him into the inner mazes of the market.

If Yusuf tucked Nicolo a little tighter to him as they walked, it was only because he feared Nicolo would get lost.

"We should not have gotten it." Yusuf shook his head even as he curled his hand tighter on the purchase. He walked faster, but not too fast he would have left Nicolo behind.

"You said it was good for fine line work," Nicolo reminded him, ever sharp with memory if not also dull in understanding what Yusuf was trying to say.

"It is, but it is also too much coin." Yusuf shook the wrapped pen towards Nicolo. "A pen should not need to be adorned with such finery. It is a pen, not jewelry!"

"I still say we should have gotten another blanket instead." Yusuf shook his head at Nicolo's blank expression.

"We already have one," Nicolo said slowly as if Yusuf was the one who did not understand. The vial of ink secured carefully in Nicolo's belt sloshed gently against his hip as he twisted towards where they came.

"And that is another thing, we did not need so much ink or such quality. What he charged, the ink should write itself!"

"We forgot the oil for the lamp," Nicolo said distractedly. The only indication he heard Yusuf was his hand curled around the vial of ink, guarding it against jostling. Yusuf's mind stuttered at the gesture.

"The what? No, no. We will get it next time," Yusuf was starting to feel weary. The ink will be compensated once he is paid for his work. 

The pen, however, was an expense he did not predict. The coin should be added to the fund he created to support their journey to find the two women. He dreamed about them again last night. Nicolo was too deep in his exhaustion that he did not remember any dream when he woke.

"The women were in greenery, wet and thick, like places in the East." Yusuf held up the package and turned it round and round. "We need to find a ship willing to take us as far East it could. We would also need supplies. We need to buy gems and silver because we do not have their currency." 

Yusuf sighed. "What we do not need are pens even if they are this nice. We can not spare the coin."

Nicolo stared expressionless a few paces from Yusuf. He was still half-turned to the previous stalls. 

"I will get more coin," Nicolo uttered. His throat worked as he swallowed. "Keep the pen. I will get more money."

Yusuf shook his head. "Take me to whom you work for in the docks. If they are so busy they require help at night, they will want to hire more hands."

"I will get more coin," Nicolo repeated, ignoring what Yusuf said.

"Nicolo—"

"I should get the oil." Nicolo spun around sharply and started back to the stalls they visited.

"Get the blanket instead," Yusuf called after him. 

Nicolo did not get the blanket.

Yusuf glared at Nicolo but did not toss the basket of breads and cheeses at his friend. Yusuf haggled congenially with the maternal vendors of the bread stall. The two women took pity on Yusuf's distracted state as he kept glancing over to spot Nicolo with hopefully an arm full of thick blankets. Alas, the fool returned with a vessel of oil large enough to keep the darkness away for two weeks.

But this is the first time in many days his friend smiled; even if it was for a purchase Yusuf thought should have been reserved for Nicolo instead. Nicolo looked so pleased with himself. The oil vendor never filled the vessel full but always charged him for one. 

It must be the vendor's wife today. Nicolo was oblivious to how many's ire crumpled under the gentle and respectful tones of Nicolo's voice. Some, like Yusuf, found his stilted Arabic charming as he stumbled earnestly for the proper words to say. 

Yusuf swallowed his disapproval. He thanked Nicolo, possibly more profusely than warranted. Nicolo was like a seedling thirsting for water. His lingering lethargy was gone, his posture straighter. How could Yusuf destroy this? It was sunlight in a break of clouds.

Still...

"A blanket would have been nice," Yusuf sighed as they walked.

"Are you still cold?" Nicolo frowned to himself.

"Am I, no, Nicolo, I was thinking the blanket be for—"

"Spiced meat," Nicolo said. He was steering for the stall faster than Yusuf could curse after him. However, Yusuf put his foot down on the spiced meat, insisting they get the plain fist size of goat's shin instead. The blander meat should be a friendly option for Nicolo's current stomach pains. Nicolo rolled his eyes—a new gesture Yusuf found inexplicable delight from—and bought the shin. 

They have been in each other's lives long enough to pick their battles. If Nicolo insisted on wasting coin on pens and ink, then he will have to tolerate Yusuf's determination to buy the least flavorful and blandest of food. 

"I told you I am fed in the docks. I am not there often to choke on your horrible cooking," Nicolo muttered as he tugged his hair that refused to stay behind his ear. 

"Not fed enough," Yusuf retorted as he craned to spot the stalls for fruit. "Your cheekbones can cut deeper than my scimitar."

Nicolo was about to say something more, but a breeze riffled through, sending hair into his mouth.

"You should have tied it back like before," Yusuf snickered. He reached up and cupped the ends of Nicolo's hair. "But this is an improvement. You only look half as disgruntled."

Nicolo scoffed. He swatted Yusuf's hand with little heat. He tugged another strand of hair again, sighing when another breeze fluttered past and destroyed his efforts. He shot Yusuf a rueful look, a shy smile tilted up at the corner as he shrugged.

Yusuf's mouth went dry. The dark tea in the other stall left him unusually parched after trying only a sip. The vendor promised the tea soothed any stomach of a weak disposition. He tried it while Nicolo wandered off. Nicolo returned with a small plain wooden box filled with thick textured sheets. They smelled slightly damp, a clean scent of freshly cut grass. 

Nicolo insisted the paper was not expensive, but regrettably, this was all they have. Far more than Yusuf ever had at once, Yusuf tried to reassure his friend. 

Yusuf wasn't sure why Nicolo still considered it a personal failing, though. Yusuf did not like how it made the smudges under Nicolo's eyes darker. Like a cloud robbing light from the bright moon. 

"Are you all right?" Nicolo frowned, slowing his tracks.

Yusuf realized he has stopped walking. He shook his head and out of the corner of his eye, he soon became glad he stopped.

"Come here," Yusuf beckoned with a wave of a hand as he steered for the stall of spiced fruits. "They are rarely here." Dirar must have returned. Yusuf hoped it meant the merchant would be in need of more script work. 

Nicolo peered at the wooden bins of apricots and figs floating in thick speckled syrups. 

"...these are figs?" Nicolo said doubtfully as he pointed to the apricots.

"No, but they are very good. Apricots." Yusuf repeated the word, grimacing as Nicolo tried.

"No, Nicolo," Yusuf groaned, not unkindly. "You pronounce it like a sneezing cat! The last part should be sounding like—"

"Are you now a teacher as well, Yusuf?"

"Dirar!" Yusuf exclaimed. The merchant stood a head taller than Yusuf. He needed to stoop under the canopy hanging over his wares. His unusual height, the solid thickness of his build and his dark skin made him a striking figure against the pale fabric of his robes. He laughed deep from the belly as he clasped Yusuf's forearm in greeting.

"I did not think to see you until week's end." Yusuf's eyebrow rose when he noticed Nicolo hung back, almost lost in the crowds. 

"Alas, a storm forced my ship back to Cairo." Dirar's obsidian eyes drifted to the shadow off Yusuf's right shoulder. "Truly unfortunate."

Yusuf's stomach sank. "Ah, then you were unable to deliver the scrolls to the buyer."

Dirar grimaced. Wrinkles formed on his smooth forehead. He swept a broad hand over his sleek, shaved head.

"No, I am sorry. Here, I can purchase one of them if you wish. I do not have much, but allow me to purchase a scroll."

"That is not necessary. Perhaps another would be interested." Yusuf shook his head, but his posture must have betrayed him. Nicolo stepped closer, his eyes questioning.

"Hello," Dirar murmured. He offered a tight-lipped smile. "Nicolo, is it not?"

Yusuf shook himself out of his calculations spinning in his head. "Where are my manners? Nicolo, this is Dirar. He has been helping me find buyers for my work."

Dirar's smile widened. "We've already met."

Nicolo tensed next to Yusuf.

"Yes," Nicolo said stiffly, "At the docks."

Yusuf nodded. He mock-scowled at Dirar.

"So you are the one keeping my friend up so late at night." Yusuf wagged a finger at Dirar. "The moon rises first before he returns."

"Not just me," Dirar said. His eyes drifted up and down Nicolo. His mouth curved, his eyes gleaming with humor. 

"He's a hard worker. I recommend him to many of my friends...at the docks." He abruptly clapped his hands.

Next to Yusuf, Nicolo twitched, unnoticeable if he were not standing close to Yusuf. Yusuf felt the jolt against his arm.

"I am a rude host," Dirar boomed. "I bring many sweets from afar. Here. Come see. These are my favorites." He speared a dripping apricot with a thin dagger that hung over his meaty hip. With deft fingers, he sliced a golden wedge dripping with syrup. He offered it to Yusuf on the flat of his blade.

The stewed mishmish was tasty, not too sweet, with a hint of cinnamon and cardamom. 

"It is good," Yusuf agreed. He waved a hand on his nose. "However, they reek like you."

Dirar laughed. It shook his entire frame. "I am in ships of fruit and spice all day. I piss cinnamon and cardamom by now."

Yusuf snorted. He ruefully gazed down at the barrel. The coins from the sale would have been helpful.

"Perhaps next time," Yusuf said with regret.

"Would Nicolo like a taste?"

Yusuf frowned when he realized Dirar has sliced a thicker wedge of the fruit. He stood over Nicolo, a hand opened palm up in offering.

The taste of cardamom clung to the back of Yusuf's throat. He shook his head.

"Better not. He would not like it."

Dirar canted his head, his dagger dripping with syrup. He plucked the wedge with a surprisingly delicate touch and held up the fruit. 

"I can not imagine," Dirar rumbled, "how someone wouldn't enjoy this once it is in his mouth. A taste is all I ask. Surely your friend wouldn't refuse my hospitality?"

"Fine," Nicolo said, near snapping. He reached for the fruit.

"No, no, allow me."

To Yusuf's surprise, Dirar did not offer the apricot on his blade like he did with Yusuf. He pressed the apricot to Nicolo's lips. With a murmur only Nicolo could hear, Dirar pushed the fruit into Nicolo's mouth with a thumb.

Nicolo locked colorless eyes on Dirar, craning to look up because Dirar towered Nicolo.

Suddenly, Yusuf did not find the height difference amusing.

Dirar tsked. "Not good? You do not swallow, Nicolo."

Yusuf frowned. "Nicolo, you should not—"

With a loud gulp, Nicolo swallowed the fruit.

"Good?" Dirar murmured.

Nicolo looked away, his jaw clenched.

"It is late in the day," Yusuf said. He looked at Nicolo and Dirar with narrowed eyes. 

"We will see each other again, Yusuf," Dirar said, but his eyes were on Nicolo. "You, too."

No, they will not. The thought popped into Yusuf's head fierce and startling. He did not reply. He nodded curtly to Dirar, liking Dirar's small smile less and less but did not know why. When he turned around, Nicolo was gone.


	4. (Nicolo) - Cairo, 12th century

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter contains graphic sexual situations with Nicolo/Other

_"...breathe through your nose..."_

_He did not expect it to feel so large in his mouth. When he first opened his mouth, Dirar suddenly grabbed him by the jaw. Dirar tsked, like he would a naughty child and told him he needed to open his mouth wider._

_"I'll teach you," Dirar had promised. His eyes shone like dark stones slick with blood. "You'll do fine but you need to open wider or it will not fit."_

_The merchant made it sound simple, a passing fleeting thing for a few coins, something benign that would fill his and Yusuf's stomachs. He did not enjoy starvation as a child. He would not wish this on Yusuf._

_"Deep breath in, relax your sweet mouth..."_

_But Dirar did not say how large it would feel._

_The object bumped against his teeth. He started and the object slipped out to slap him on his lower lip._

_Dirar huffed. Without warning, he slammed a fist to the side of his throat. He gasped which was exactly what Dirar wanted. The object darted back in with all the surety of a striking dagger._

_"Do not do that again," Dirar snarled._

_It tasted...not what he expected. Salty? It smelled of sweat. Yusuf smelled of sweat after they sword fight because decades shackled with him threatened to dull their blades. Yusuf always laughed, exhausted but exhilarated after yet another stalemate. He smelled of sweat and musk, tinged with something he could not find anywhere else._

_This did not smell like Yusuf._

_"...good...good," Dirar cooed. His hand tightened on his chin, forcing him to gape wider even though the object crawling into his mouth pushed his mouth to open more, his tongue trembling as the object crushed it to his bottom teeth._

_"You'll be rewarded well for letting me be your first..."_

_He tried to swallow the gathering spit. He could not. He began to drool out of the corner of his mouth and it dribbled into his beard._

_His knees ached where he kneel in Dirar's ship. It smelled like citrus and dates and spice everywhere. Dirar's hands smelled the same. He wondered if the scents will soak into his clothes. Will Yusuf smell what he has done, cowered between a man's legs, mouth yawning and drooling as something moved deeper and deeper into his throat?_

_"Look at me..."_

_He did not want to._

_The hand jerked his chin up. He convulsed as the object sank deeper as if it was trying to hammer him into the floor, a crucifixion through his tongue and bowels rather than his hands and feet._

_"Your eyes..." Dirar sighed. The object moved faster, lighting fire within his throat, igniting tears to collect at the corners of his eyes, reaching for his empty lungs._

_"Were these the eyes my people saw in Aleppo?" Dirar said, his voice soft and deadly. "Were your eyes the last thing my wife and children saw as when they fled from your invasions?"_

_He could not speak, choking, wheezing as the object rammed faster into his throat, stealing what little air he tried to store in his lungs. Drool continued to run down his beard, pooling into the hollows of his throat. He thought his spit smelled foul, mingled with whatever was leaking from the object's tip._

_"Yes, let me in. I demand entrance," Dirar breathed._

_Dirar's stool squeaked as his hips snapped forward. His other hand clawed the back of his head, fingers pulling his hair free out of the leather tie. His hands scrabbled, clutching Dirar's knees to find purchase. Dirar hissed, knocking his knee into him, stomping down on both his hands to pin them to the floor._

_"Let my eyes be all you see," Dirar seethed. Dirar's large hand pushed his head forward, his other hand clutching his chin like a pot handle. Dirar guided his head like a mace swinging into his own body, forcing his locked jaw to meet each parry the object thrust towards him._

_The ship rocked under his knees, churning and blurring like the ship that took him to Antioch which led him to Jerusalem and to rivers of blood._

_"Let me all in," Dirar spat out. The ship pitched and swayed violently under his knees. A snap and jolt ran up the floor and clawed at the pit of his belly._

_"Earn your coin!" Dirar ordered. "Open wider. Wider!"_

_The room spun in strange colors and then no color at all. His jaw ached. His throat burned. His broken fingers ground unnaturally trapped under Dirar's boots. But nothing compared to the agony in his heart as Dirar screamed at him in Arabic, too fast to translate, too true to deny._

_"Let me give you the first taste of what you deserve, filthy Frank," Dirar shrieked as he yanked him up by the chin, almost off his knees and the object plowed into his mouth once more before it shook inside the clutch of his spasming throat. He tasted blood from his cut tongue, his vomit that has no where to go and a flood of bitter, bitter—_

Nicolo dropped to his knees and vomited.

He was outside of the market. The sounds of people and their lives untainted by invasion rose high behind his bowed back. He did not realize his feet carried him so far and so quickly.

Was Yusuf still with Dirar? Dirar was the only name in Nicolo's grasp. The others...he gave them petty names because he would not see them again. And most, he did not. What they pay him for was only worthy of being done in the dark. After, many slithered away, happy to be forgotten despite their emptied purses. 

But Dirar, Nicolo remembered how the merchant offered withered fruit at a discount, the prices cheaper and cheaper until there was no coin to spend at all. 

He saw it in Dirar's evaluating eyes. There was something else Nicolo could barter. But after he spoke with Nicolo in private one day, Nicolo refused. He even pressed his dagger to Dirar's throat, unsure why Dirar only laughed. 

Dirar kept asking as the docks inexplicably offered less and less work. Until finally, when Nicolo realized their bins were bare and Yusuf's smiles were starting to hollow like his cheeks, Nicolo sought Dinar. 

Dinar taught Nicolo what to do. After, he paid Nicolo, minus a fee and penalty for the vomit on his floor. 

Work at the docks was plentiful again, but where as Dirar became silent, others began asking.

First, it was for a bit of coin for meat. Then for when the docks were empty of ships due to a storm. Then for the paper. Then for a blanket because the roof would not stay whole. After...

He could not remember what each time was for anymore.

Nicolo pressed a fist to his cramping stomach. He was too spent to shuffle away from the blood splattered sick on the weeds. 

Blood? 

Oh. That was new as well. 

He could feel Dirar's thumb scratching his lower lip to demand entry. He could smell the cardamom embedded under Dirar's nails, the plush fruit dripping and slick, so close to feeling like something else, Dirar's thumb pressing down his lip, open, open, and it slipped in tasting wrong, but he needed to swallow, gulp it down oily and slippery—

Nicolo's chin knocked into his knees as he hunched lower and gagged. Nothing would come out, but his mouth tasted like something did.

Sweat beaded on the back of his neck, reminding Nicolo why he had tied his hair back before. He remembered how warm Yusuf's hand felt as it palmed the ends of his hair and joked how better humored Nicolo looked now. Yusuf did not touch him. Not quite. But he longed to feel the heat brushing against his nape again.

Nicolo was about to wipe the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand when he discovered his hand was wet. Staring at his fingers, Nicolo was confused why his fingers were tipped in ebony ink—Oh no...

A strangled sound escaped Nicolo's throat when he looked down and found the vial of ink was dribbling down his trousers. A trail led back into the market. He jerked the tin container up and found a tiny pin hole at the bottom. It had bled precious ink from the market. And as he fled like a coward, the vial sloshed and spilled more ink without him noticing.

Breathing harshly, unwilling to release whatever sound that shook at the base of his throat, Nicolo wrapped the bottom with a strap of leather he hastily cut off the top of his left boot. 

The vial stopped bleeding ink, but the damage was done. Almost half empty.

"Fool," Nicolo murmured. "You should not have run." His head hung low. 

"There you are. I have been looking for you." A hand slipped around his arm, possessive and demanding.

No, Nicolo thought, his throat working. Not now. Not while it was still daylight. He was too tired, he was too brittle, no, he will bargain for whoever it is to meet later. Much later, but not too late because he needed to buy more ink...

"Nicolo," a voice insisted. The hand shook Nicolo and it rattled his pleas out.

"Not now," Nicolo whispered. "Please have pity—not now. I will meet you at nigh—"

"Not now? Nicolo, what are you talking about?"

Yusuf came into view, his warm eyes bright with worry. He stood close to Nicolo, his hand curled around his wrist. He stood close enough to smell like Yusuf. No one else ever did.

"Nicolo," Yusuf said sharper. He looked afraid. Were they discovered? What was wrong?

"You were gone when I turned around. Are you ill again? Was the vomit by my feet yours? There is blood in it."

...Oh.

"I..." Nicolo began, but could not finish. His mind went blank, a peace he has not know in a while. He forgot what he should say. All he could think of was...

"Not now."

"Eh?" Yusuf gripped both his shoulders now. He did not shake Nicolo, for which he was grateful. He feared what other stupid thing he would blurt out. He just, he wished...

"Not now," Nicolo could not stop from whimpering. His breath hitched and he felt like he was choking but he did not understand how that was possible. He was not on his knees and he smelled like Yusuf and no, no, the ink, he needed to find another, the docks, there were always sly eyes watching, but his skin itched at the thought, but the ink, how foolish he was to... 

"All right," Yusuf said suddenly. Very carefully, he pulled Nicolo to his shoulder and for a brief moment, all that existed in Nicolo's mind was the melody of Yusuf's breathing by his ear and the rise and fall of Yusuf's chest against his.

Nicolo closed his eyes. He tensed because he can not collapse against Yusuf and weep. He has not wept since a faceless woman left him in the monastery. She said she did not want such a stupid child. And weeping made noise the monastery did not like. If he weeps, he starves. No, he will not weep. He needed to go, he needed to earn his coin, earn his place by Yusuf's side, get the ink—

Yusuf cupped the back of Nicolo's head. Fingers pressed gentle circles on his scalp. 

Nicolo's thoughts dried up to nothingness.

"Ah, Nicolo," Yusuf said softly, profoundly sad for some reason. "Whatever it is, all right. Not now. Yea? Sh, not now."

Nicolo dropped his head to Yusuf's shoulder. It felt sturdy and under his feet, the ground no longer swayed like the ships and of bodies lurching forward to spear his mouth.

Nicolo, not trusting his voice, simply nodded.

Yes. Please. Not now.

Yusuf continued to draw symbols into Nicolo's scalp.

"All right," Yusuf breathed out unsteadily, "Good. Let us go home."

Nicolo could only nod again and hobbled towards the path, Yusuf's arm around his middle to guide him the way.


	5. (Yusuf) - Cairo, 12th century

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mentions battle gore

_Not now._

When Yusuf had slain the pale invader for the sixth time, he thought of how weary the other looked. He looked as tired as Yusuf felt. When they fell on each other's blade at the same time, Yusuf had lain in the sand thick and slippy with blood. The dead contributed to the red sludge and pooled hot under his body. When he revived, he heard the other did as well. And Yusuf laid there, his robes sodden heavy with blood. Suddenly, he was very weary, frustrated with it all and why Allah would bring him back so many times to face the other.

Not now, Yusuf had thought then when he heard the other rise to his feet. _Not now._ He was weary, too aged with sorrow to lift his scimitar again.

The boots had crunched closer. Yusuf closed his eyes. He waited for the blow. It never came. Instead, the boots shuffled past him, dragging blood, hair and entrails that were caught on his heel.

Yusuf found the invader outside the battle, blank sea mist eyes staring at Jerusalem as it burned. He looked lost, forlorn. In spite of his anger, the sight broke Yusuf's heart. It broke further when he saw the invader tore off the cross around his neck and charged into a frenzied battle a poor widow and child were caught behind.

The former invader could not save them. There were too many determined to gain the spoils of war in any form. By the time Yusuf reached them, heart pounding (in fear? for the other? for _him_? it did not make sense), the man was struck down by his fellow invaders screaming traitor. He lived, but was dragged away to camp for punishment. 

Yusuf buried the widow and child, prayed for them with damp eyes. Then he followed the trail of blood on the sand. The monstrous invaders dragged their own tethered behind horses.

Yusuf found him a week later, filthy with dried blood from whippings long healed. He was chained to a rock. A desert creature gnawed at his destroyed throat, his destroyed eyes was the color of the desert. Yusuf killed the creature, freed the invader before he revived and tossed him over a horse when the invader would do nothing more than blink after he came back to life with a weak gurgle.

He did not learn Nicolo's name for nine days. He was silent, glaring at Yusuf for approaching him, terrified every time he bolted out from sleep, and lost each time he observed Yusuf with his prayers. He finally spoke after Yusuf was killed by bandits hoping for riches in their camp. He woke up to find Nicolo's back hunched in front of him. Nicolo was pressed back against his left hip, his sword set in front and his eyes fixed to the horizon. He did not look at Yusuf. In fact, it was another month before guilt-bleached eyes would finally meet his. 

"Nicolo," Nicolo had rasped, not turning around. Later, Yusuf would learn it was because Nicolo was only able to kill two of them, the other two fleeing and screaming about demons because they witnessed an arrow pushed out of the back of Nicolo's head.

"What is a Nicolo?" Yusuf had said groggily.

"I do not know any more," Nicolo had whispered and passed Yusuf the waterskin with the last of their water.

When Nicolo plead _Not now_ , it was with that same voice. 

Defeated and confused, lost and empty as if his words were all he could offer. Because there was nothing left.

Yusuf wanted to storm back to Dirar's stall, let him hear the clean _snick_ of his scimitar pulling free of its sheath. He wanted to press the curved edge of the blade under the soft flesh of Dirar's chin and demand answers to why Nicolo was Nicolo of old, what treachery did he inflict on his Nicolo.

But there was blood in Nicolo's vomit and such pain in Nicolo's _Not now._. Yusuf could not walk away from him. 

And so Yusuf helped Nicolo to his bed (after all, it was the closest to the hearth as Nicolo always favored a spot in front of doors). He coaxed Nicolo to sip the tea, have a generous wedge of bread, _no, no, it is fine, it is fresh, yes, yes, I will have some too, see?_

Nicolo could not tolerate the bread. Nor the bit of salted fish boiled in water so it would be soft enough to eat. And he threw up the rest of the tea. Yusuf was relieved there was no more blood in Nicolo's vomit. However, Nicolo was upset that he wasted the food, so Yusuf did not have the heart to have him try again.

Their affliction healed whatever ailed Nicolo, thank Allah. But it did not fill the hollowness in Nicolo's cheeks or soothe whatever pangs Nicolo seemed to still suffer in his belly. He fell into an exhausted doze curled towards the wall, a fist pressed into his stomach.

While Nicolo slept, Yusuf ate (he did promise he would after all) by the table. He moved the table closer and propped his left foot on the edge of the pallet. His foot brushed lightly along the curve of Nicolo's spine. 

The knobby bumps that ran down Nicolo's back spoke of far too many meals Nicolo could not tolerate. How did he miss this? It made something twist in Yusuf's chest. Yet the soft rhythmic breathing against Yusuf's foot soothed him with the same calm assurance he gets with prayer.

It was no use denying his feelings any longer. Yusuf long suspected the feelings blurred soft and warm in his chest were due to Nicolo. Somewhere between war and traveling, animosity spun to a begrudging comradeship and then to this well of emotions that easily bubbled to the surface with every little thing Nicolo did. 

"But do you feel the same?" Yusuf murmured out loud. He shook his head. Now was not the time to wallow in his own feelings. He settled his foot closer to Nicolo's back and considered the curl of paper before him.

It was difficult to write or draw with one leg extended towards the bed. Yusuf needed to hunch awkwardly to one side to compensate, and so with reluctance, he set both feet to the floor. The table was moved closer to the bed until Yusuf no longer required the chair. He sat on the edge of the pallet, Nicolo breathing shallowly against him, the lamp glowing bright thanks to the excessively large vessel of purchased oil. 

Yusuf chose a folktale he heard as a child, when tales were told to still young feet at night before sleep. He wrote the tale as best he could remember in the center of the page.

Stooping lower to the borders, Yusuf drew outlines of scrolling flowers, tiny animals hunched to pounce, and at the lower corner, a falcon perched on an olive tree branch. As much as he loathed to admit, the new pen Nicolo insisted they get produced thin elegant veins of black. The quality paper kept the ink herded, nothing seeped away. The lines remained crisp and promised whatever paint applied within their borders, the color would stay true.

If there was coin to spare, Yusuf would apply gold and silver dots among the animals, stroke faint splashes of green among the flowers. He gingerly mixed turmeric with water to dab in the borders and brighten the illustrations. With a finger, he painted the falcon's feathers with a mix of spice and water that produced a pomegranate red. He left the falcon's keen eyes uncolored. He would need to find an appropriate shade for its eyes. Perhaps a blue? 

Yusuf considered the paper with a grimace. Without the gleam of silvers and golds, the page looked plain. The border would look better with the flowers' branches painted brown. But it meant creating the rich hue with oils and cardamom.

Yusuf glanced over his shoulder. 

Nicolo stayed curled, facing the wall. He was barely visible under the folds of the blanket and the unruly tangle of hair. But one eye was visible, squeezed tight, lid pale under a smudge of miserable darkness.

Nicolo stir restlessly, his rounded back leaning against Yusuf's hip. He huffed and settled deeper into sleep.

Yusuf turned back to his page. He nodded to himself as he shuffled to sit deeper in the pallet. 

The border was fine as it is.

“You forgot where my bed is again.”

Yusuf grinned down at the page he was drying. He wiped his hands clean of the drying powder with the rag. Twisting around, Yusuf considered the creature on his bed.

“Better,” Yusuf determined out loud. “You will no longer frighten the birds perched outside Yazim's date tree. I can not promise the same of her cat.”

The scowl peering through the disheveled head and blanket was laughable. 

“And is there something wrong with the chair?” Nicolo huffed. "Or have you forgotten what a chair is for in your advanced years?" He curled a hand on Yusuf’s closest forearm to pull himself up. 

Winded, Nicolo sagged back against the wall Yusuf’s bed was set against.

What humor Yusuf felt died quickly at the sensation of Nicolo’s trembling fingers on his arm. Nicolo panted loudly even as he remained huddled within the blanket.

“You are usually quick to wake,” Yusuf noted. He sobered. He patted the blanket mound where Nicolo’s feet were. 

“I would be out of this bed quicker,” Nicolo wheezed, “If something was not in my way.” He kicked Yusuf, bumping his hip with a covered foot. Yusuf was not sure if the feeble movement was in jest or because of weakness. He truly hoped it was the first. 

"Eh, what is this? I carry your bag of bones to this bed and this is the thanks I get?"

"This bag of bones prefers his own bed." Another kick, a halfhearted tap that landed on Yusuf's thigh. "Make way."

“Were you feeling better,” Yusuf retorted, “I would not be an obstacle at all.”

Nicolo fell to silence.

Yusuf rubbed his forehead wearily.

“ _Are_ you feeling better?” Yusuf asked.

Nicolo grunted. “Would you believe me if I said yes?”

“No.” Yusuf’s mouth set. He stared across to the other bed. He sensed Nicolo against his back. His breathing improved, even and steady in a beat Yusuf now realized was unique and also familiar in his ears.

“You said 'Not now',” Yusuf said quietly. 

Behind Yusuf, Nicolo's breath stuttered.

Yusuf absently turned the pen in his hands. He waited, but Nicolo would not speak. 

"It is later," Yusuf said finally. "Would you now grant me an explanation?"

Nicolo grunted. His feet retreated from Yusuf's hip.

"What is there to explain?" Nicolo mumbled.

"How about who you thought I was?" Yusuf waited, but Nicolo offered nothing. The pen in his hands continued to spin.

"Who did you think I was, Nicolo?" Yusuf's teeth ground together at the continued silence. "Who troubled you?"

"No one," Nicolo bit out. "No one troubled me. I was not—"

The pen clacked as it dropped onto the table when Yusuf turned around.

"Who," Yusuf seethed, "did you think it was that you begged _"Not now"_ with tears in your eyes?"

Nicolo's eyes were round as the moon that hung above them. His gaze dimmed and shifted to look at something past Yusuf's ear.

"Tears?" Nicolo scoffed. 

Yusuf shook his head. He felt as ill as when he saw Nicolo stare up at Yusuf at the market. The sheen in those frightened eyes was like nothing he has seen from Nicolo. It felt like a kick in the ribs by a horse. Something splintered inside of him, something that howled he must not allow Nicolo to feel like that ever again.

"You were mistaken," Nicolo insisted, far too desperately. 

"Nicolo..."

"You are often too prone to yo—You imagined it—"

"No, I did not," Yusuf snapped. "I have shed enough tears over the invasions to know what tears look like." He froze when he heard himself.

Nicolo hung his head, his eyes closing in pain.

"Yes," Nicolo murmured. His voice cracked. He took a breath and his voice firmed. "You are right. You have shed tears. Many have because of us."

"Nicolo," Yusuf said, dismayed, "I did not say that to be cruel."

Nicolo smiled, tight-lipped, his eyes dull. "The truth is always cruel no matter how kind you tell it."

Yusuf's chest held a sharp rock inside. It ground into his heart the longer Nicolo would not look at him.

Nicolo, sensing Yusuf's unease, grimaced weakly. Yusuf supposed it was meant to be a smile. 

"It is nothing," Nicolo said. He tipped his head back, hitting the wall with a sound that made Yusuf's own head hurt. "It is fine."

"An obvious lie is just as cruel, Nicolo," Yusuf told him tiredly. "No matter how kind your reasons are."

Nicolo closed his eyes. His mouth twisted like he was fighting the words on a battlefield.

"What were you drawing?" Nicolo said finally. 

Yusuf exhaled. "Nicolo..."

"It looked different from your others." Nicolo opened his eyes. The plea in them gave Yusuf pause.

The weight that left a permanent bow on Nicolo's shoulders seemed to have burrowed into Yusuf's bones now. He was lying on a field of blood and sorrow again, staring at a sky and begging for this endless cycle to end.

"Yusuf," Nicolo whispered. His lower lip trembled. He bit down on it, stilling it. And then it bled, a tear of blood that dried after the lip healed. 

Yusuf swallowed. He turn around quickly. He cradled the folktale he drew with both hands. He realized he omitted the ending from the story because it was a sorrowful one. He cried as a boy when he heard it and his mother never told it again. He will have to write one later. A happy one.

"Later?" Yusuf rasped.

"I..." Nicolo inhaled, choked on the effort and exhaled. It sounded broken. If Yusuf did not turn around, he could pretend it did not sound like a sob.

"I..." Nicolo tried again. "Yes. Yes, I...I will tell you. Later. Just...not now."

 _Please._ Yusuf heard it as clear as if Nicolo shouted it in his ear. The page rustled in his hand as he turned around. Wordlessly, Yusuf gave Nicolo the page.

Nicolo's eyes were pale flecks of the sky as they swept across the words. Nicolo's brow knitted as he struggled.

"I am too weary to read it," Nicolo gave up with a sigh. "The words makes sense, but not together." He shook his head.

"It is a child's story," Yusuf said. "From my youth. I thought someone from the markets might be interested." He pointed to the bird at the lower corner and then the boy at the upper corner, hidden in the decorated border.

Nicolo studied the child perched among the vines staring intently at the falcon below. He tilted the paper and the two vanished into the scroll work. It would be far more impressive if Yusuf could afford it some more colored ink. He thought the boy's profile was too stiff.

"It is wonderful," Nicolo said quietly. The paper shook in his hands. He passed it back to Yusuf. "I have never seen anything like it."

Yusuf lifted a shoulder. He would turn hot from the praise if he were not mulling over how pale and bloodless Nicolo's fingers looked.

"You are generous with praise," Yusuf mumbled.

"I am often the opposite."

Yusuf glanced up, but Nicolo was staring at the page Yusuf held.

"Nicolo," Yusuf began.

Bleak eyes lifted.

Yusuf gulped back his words and quickly thought of another.

"I made broth of the fish." Yusuf's stomach twist when Nicolo shook his head. Limp brown hair fell forward and hung against Nicolo's drawn face.

"A bit of bread?" Yusuf tried. "A smaller piece than before?" He resisted shaking Nicolo. He resisted the fear screaming in his heart to clutch Nicolo and pour the broth down his throat. 

"I promised you not to ask any more," Yusuf whispered. He felt a faint twinge of guilt. "Could you assure me I did the right thing by having a bit of food?"

Nicolo peered up, weary eyes squinting at Yusuf.

"I did not think you would stoop so low, Yusuf." Nicolo smiled faintly, but it dropped too quickly. Nicolo nodded, his sigh so laden and sad, Yusuf almost retracted his request.

"I will sweeten the deal by reading this as you eat," Yusuf offered. He held up the page. "Good practice. You still speak Arabic with the same crudeness of the way you swing your sword."

Nicolo snorted, or it sounded like he tried. He sat back, his head swaying lazily across the wall as his eyes blearily followed Yusuf to the kitchen and back to the bed. He made no comment as Yusuf moved up to sit next to Nicolo.

Yusuf paused when the wood beneath the pallet creaked.

Nicolo huffed. "It is because you eat too many of Yazim's sugared dates."

Yusuf glared at Nicolo. He fidgeted to sit closer, tensing when the wood groaned again.

"Not a word," Yusuf warned yet his heart pounded at a hint of a smirk. He grumbled under his breath. Someone needed to eat more sugared dates and it is not he.

"Careful," Yusuf said as he pressed the cracked bowl of broth into Nicolo's cold hands. "It is hot." He watched Nicolo, studied how careful Nicolo swallowed and sip again.

"Good?" Yusuf ventured.

Nicolo grimaced. "You mean the broth?"

"No, I meant the fish in the Nile, yes, the broth."

Nicolo cautiously nodded and took another sip. And another. It felt like years, but at last the bowl was empty. Yusuf only wished it did not feel like such a victory but it did.

"Do not lie down yet," Yusuf cautioned. "I want you to eat some bread next."

To Yusuf's relief, Nicolo only nodded. It may be because Nicolo found it too tiresome to argue, but it did not matter if it meant Nicolo will eat.

"The story," Nicolo prodded. He felt warm yet not warm enough against Yusuf's arm. 

"The story," Yusuf agreed. He carefully, slowly, dropped his arm around Nicolo's shoulders. He paused.

"You are getting so thin," Yusuf murmured sadly. "Your shoulder will soon be sharp enough to stab me in the heart, my friend."

Nicolo shook his head. He dropped it to Yusuf's shoulder and shrank a little under Yusuf's arm as if it was too heavy.

"Nicolo," Yusuf whispered. "Promise me 'Later' will be soon."

Nicolo's head rolled slightly against Yusuf's shoulder.

"Does this story have a joyous ending?" Nicolo mumbled. He sounded half-asleep. Perhaps the bread will be for morning.

"It will," Yusuf promised. He read it slowly, correcting it out loud as he went. He did not stop when he felt Nicolo sag into his side. He continued reading, reminding himself to add the happy ending soon and read it all over again over Nicolo's bowed head. Yusuf's voice was hoarse by the time the sun rose up.


	6. (Nicolo) - Cairo, 12th century

He woke up to the sound of bows and laughter fading in his ears. It left him with longing.

Nicolo made a face as something pressed down over his mouth, scratching his upper lip bristly and—

_"I also paid you to swallow."_

Nicolo jolted, springing up to his feet, or tried. Something was twisted around his legs, like hands holding him down. 

The third one was a fish merchant. Nicolo named him Smak, Arabic for fish. His short fingers were briny and slimy with fish oil and scales. 

Smak did not like how Nicolo reared back to try to breathe. He ordered his man to hold down Nicolo's legs to keep him kneeling. He demanded Nicolo to stop, swallow and do not fight him again. 

He swallowed. Then bit the object that refused to leave his sore mouth. Smak was not happy. He demanded a penalty. 

At least, Smak paid him for the other one as well. And Nicolo learned not to bite anymore.

But no, wait, that was weeks ago. How...

Nicolo glanced down at his feet. He stared blankly at the blanket wound around his ankles like a snake. Yusuf's blanket. 

Yes, that is right. He was on Yusuf's bed. And fell asleep to Yusuf's voice and his tale about a boy and his falcon. It sounded like it would have a sad ending, but Yusuf promised it would not be. Nicolo could not recall if he heard it. His last memory was of Yusuf's arm warm against his nape, his body solid against his side, and his voice steady and deep in his ears, taking over the buzzing that has not gone away since Dirar.

Another sort of longing filled Nicolo's chest and left him feeling weak. He dropped back down onto Yusuf's bed, the blanket now a crumpled pile on his lap.

Nicolo gripped the coarse weave with both hands as he cast bleary eyes about the room. The table was back in its place in the center between the two pallets. 

Nicolo's sleeping pallet was neat, his cushion in the center like before. Yusuf had insisted a cushion behind Nicolo's head would do miracles for sleep. For two years after they started traveling together, Yusuf complained. 

Nicolo did not see the point: he slept on stone floors, dirt ground and wooden planks without anything under his head since he could remember. He slept fine; it only needed to be long enough to be ready for his duties when the sun rose.

Yusuf had stared at Nicolo with a strange astonished expression. Then he folded up his thickest cloak and gruffly told Nicolo to put his head on it that night. 

Nicolo smiled weakly at the thin cushion Yusuf made from rags after they arrived in Cairo. He made two, folding them in halves and in quarters from clothing torn from too many arrows and too many swords. Nicolo washed them as best he could the moment Yusuf deemed they were far enough away. But the damage was too great. Nicolo kept them anyway in case they needed something to burn. Wood was scarce in the desert.

Yusuf always left his beds a mess. Nicolo learned early on that if the beds were not made neatly, one did not eat. 

It meant Yusuf did not sleep in Nicolo's bed las night. That is...good? Yusuf did not like to be cold, but then where...

Nicolo blinked at the pallet he was on and considered the smudges of ink on the covers. 

Oh.

That strange longing washed over Nicolo again. And when he noticed the modest chunk of bread and tea on the table, the longing sharpened to an ache.

The bread was warm, burnt at the bottom. Yusuf must have set it on top of the covered pot as he boiled water for tea. The tea has cooled somewhat but it still slipped warm down Nicolo's throat. And the bread...tasted like bread. Nicolo nearly choked when he gulped down the bread and realized it tasted like it should. 

Nicolo sipped the tea cautiously. It was a dark brew Yusuf said the merchant promised would soothe his stomach. But Nicolo did not put much faith on merchants. Not anymore.

It was unusual Yusuf was not here. His threadbare prayer rug was rolled up by their packs, so he did his morning prayers. Oddly enough, all the stray sheets of thick paper were gone. Did Yusuf need more already? 

Nicolo's stomach clenched at the thought. He blinked, his sight blurring as he thought who might be in port. Smak has gone back to sea. Gems left as well. 

Dirar. Dirar and Khalîl were here.

Nicolo curled his hands tighter around the chipped cup. 

Perhaps Khalîl. He paid well and did not object if Nicolo needed to pause for breath. He liked to pull hair though and was fond of Nicolo's tongue and the sight of his blood. 

But he was better than Dirar. Maybe, yes, perhaps he will seek Khalil before Dirar hears and seeks _him_. 

Nicolo pulled in a shuddering breath, his head dropping and his eyes landed on a scrap of paper that must have been stuck on the bottom of his cup.

_Have gone to docks._

_Rest._

_Yusuf._

The cup shattered as Nicolo surged to his feet. He changed quickly, tearing buttons and laces in the process, but he was out, trembling hands fastening his longsword to his hip as he hurried to the docks.

Yazim startled when Nicolo stopped by her stall, asking if she saw Yusuf. As he darted away, Nicolo realized the widow stammered her reply because she did not understand Nicolo at first. In his haste, he spoke to her in a mix of Arabic and Greek.

This early in the morning, the markets were busy with dock workers as ships arrived. Baskets of fruits and spices wove through stalls for delivery. Caravans arrived at the docks to pick up baskets reserved for the walled city and not for the streets clustered around it. 

Nicolo scanned the turns and spaces between the stalls, ignoring the calls for his attention and his coin. 

The bread and tea were warm. Yusuf could not have left too long ago. Nicolo mumbled apologies as his longsword's scabbard knocked into knees and carts. Heads shot up and eyes narrowed. Someone spat and Nicolo felt the damp wad on his back.

It was a reason why he often left his sword behind, favoring the dagger instead. Yusuf left the dagger in his pack one day, in a village by the water as they cut through lands that still remembered news of the first invasion and dreads the next. 

Many took offense to the sight of his longsword and his light eyes. They were within their right, of course, so Nicolo never fought back. If there was another mob attack, hopefully Yusuf would see sense and simply leave. He could return for Nicolo's body later if it was convenient.

Instead, Yusuf slipped a dagger into Nicolo's pack one night and quietly offered to keep the sword if Nicolo felt that uncomfortable whenever they stayed in another town. Yusuf always made sure it was as sharp as his scimitar. He complained Nicolo did not know how to do it correctly.

"...sorry, sorry," Nicolo muttered as he took an abrupt turn and knocked into a man selling colorful fowl. He could not remember the bird's name. Yusuf told him once. It wore a strange nose and Yusuf pointed it out to Nicolo when they first set their eyes on the Ni— _where is he?_

Nicolo panted, irritated by how breathless he was and how clumsy his mind felt. His head spun too fast for him to consider what to do. He ate the bread, surely his body would agree it was nourished? He set his hands on his knees, his sword dragging, refusing to stay high against his hip, his strap for the sword too worn to hold its shape.

Could Yusuf have gone into the walled city instead to partake in the libraries? No, Yusuf would have said. No, he said docks. Nicolo should see him here, among the workers squinting suspiciously at Nicolo as they climbed up to the ships and carry down baskets spilling with fruit and fish.

_Where is he?_

Nicolo was tempted to shout for Yusuf. It was a small dock. Only small ships were able to move up and down the channels to the Nile where their bigger ships waited. Yusuf would hear him.

But the words were caught in Nicolo's throat as each face he searched was not the right one. Why did Yusuf go to the docks? Why did Nicolo not hear him leave?

Something from afar caught Nicolo's attention. He narrowed his eyes at the distance at the last ship, whose sails and oars were bound. It was a ship meant to stay for a long time. And on its deck, a man in white and tan robes stood there staring back at Nicolo as he drank from a goblet.

Dirar.

Even from here, Nicolo could see Dirar's smirk. Nicolo felt cold run down his back. His throat soured; the bread threatened to revolt in his belly.

Clenching his jaw, Nicolo straightened up and walked. His worn boots thumped as he approached. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a few men sneer knowingly. Nicolo kept his gaze forward, fixed on Dirar's sly smile. He stopped at the bottom of the plank that led up to the ship.

They stared at each other, waiting.

"I knew I would see you again," Dirar murmured. "Nicolo." He said Nicolo's name in a long exhale. He touched his chin with a slender roll of parchment. "I was curious how much you have learned since last I taught you."

Nicolo stopped from charging when he recognized the delicate lines on the scroll. 

"Where is he?" Nicolo bit out. His left hand drifted to his sword.

Dirar's eyes were dark flints. They drifted to Nicolo's sword. He chuckled.

"I hear you sometimes fight on your knees. Many like that. You were clever to do that. People bore easily. They pay more if you struggle."

"Where. Is. He?" Nicolo's heart hammered, galloping against his chest, screaming to break free.

"Come up to my ship. We will have tea." Dirar made to turn.

"I do not want tea," Nicolo snapped.

"It was not an offer." Dirar spun on his heels. "Leave your sword by the door."

Nicolo glanced around him. He recognized some of Dirar's crew lingering by the docks. One leered and jerked his pointy chin to the plank. Behind Nicolo, someone cackled.

Nicolo took a deep breath. The air was thick with the cloying mix of cardamom and figs. The plank was streaked red and brown from spilled spices. He climbed up the plank. His legs shook with each step. His neck ached where he forced it to hold his head up. He felt far away, looking at a stranger's hand take his sword and prop it against the side of the door. He hunched to get in, willing his back to straighten as he stood in the cabin he knew all too well.

Dirar set his chair in the center of the space. Damp and empty barrels were pushed up against the walls. In the back, hidden in the shadows, Nicolo felt eyes watching him.

"In case you try to use the dagger," Dirar murmured as he sat down. "I heard from your second...caller. He was not pleased when you threatened to cut it off when he wanted a second time."

Dirar spread his knees apart, revealing the grotesque bulge that strained his trousers.

"I have informed him it was not your fault. The price was clear. He sent his regrets."

Nicolo's jaw set.

"Where. Is. He?"

Dirar canted his head. He slipped a hand over the bulge and breathed in sharply as he cupped it.

"What makes you think he is here—if you leave now, you will not know." Dirar's lazy tone sharpened the moment Nicolo reached the door.

"Then you are responsible," Nicolo grated out. 

Dirar chuckled. "I am responsible for many things. I am responsible for who works in the docks, who receives the sweetest fruit in their stalls, how many can enter and sell in the walled city. I am responsible for who thrives and who starves. But one man?" Dirar tsked. He uttered something in Arabic, in words Nicolo could not understand completely.

In the back, someone laughed. 

Nicolo slowly advanced. The eyes in the shadows followed him as he approached Dirar. He stopped short of reach. He glowered at Dirar.

"I will burn this ship down with you in it," Nicolo said evenly. "And I will use your crew's blood to extinguish the flames."

"I have no doubt," Dirar murmured. "Your kind were always bloodthirsty. Look how calmly you talk of our deaths."

Nicolo flinched. 

Dirar chuckled softly.

"Where is he?" Nicolo repeated. He bit the inside of his mouth as he fixed his eyes at Dirar. 

Dirar gazed back, his fingers tracing the bulge between his legs with idle interest. But his eyes gleamed as they considered Nicolo.

"What do you want?" Nicolo said finally. His teeth gnashed into the flesh of his mouth. He tasted blood.

"Many things," Dirar said. His eyes shone. "But for now, kneeling will do nicely for us."

Nicolo's throat worked. "You will let him go?"

Dirar shrugged.

Something flared inside Nicolo. He gripped his dagger and took a step forward.

In the back, the clear sound of blades sliced the darkness.

"Kill me and know nothing. Kneel and you may gain...something." Dirar made a sound and the blades in the back glinted briefly as they were put away.

"You know I pay well...Nicolo."

Nicolo released his grip on the dagger. 

"I am outnumbered," Nicolo said dully. "What stops you from simply taking?"

"I find it more enjoyable when the other is willing."

"I was never willing." Nicolo glared at Dirar as the merchant continued to rub between his legs, the object hard to ignore as it jutted against the seam of his trousers. 

"You were willing enough to take our coin."

Snickers floated out from the back.

Nicolo pressed his lips together. There was nothing he could say.

Dirar huffed. He pulled his hand away. He gestured to the damp spot on his trousers. He darkened when Nicolo clicked his teeth and bare them at him.

"You have fight," Dirar said low. "How many are you willing to fight to help your friend?"

Nicolo tensed.

"Kneel," Dirar said calmly.

Nicolo's tongue felt too big for his mouth. And it felt like he was delirious with thirst and tried to eat sand again. He couldn't get his knees to bend.

Nicolo's throat worked. 

"You promise to leave him alone?" Nicolo said, defeated.

"I promise nothing if we get nothing. Kneel."

Nicolo felt the ship's floor shake as footsteps crept up from the back. He could not count how many there were. He...he did not want to.

"I will not ask again," Dirar said low, "And I will not offer again."

Nicolo closed his eyes. He heard the footsteps stop behind him, around him. A sound clawed in his chest, but he did not dare let it out. 

Nicolo opened his eyes and forced himself to stare at Dirar. Only him. Nothing else. 

Without a sound, Nicolo dropped to his knees.


	7. (Yusuf) - Cairo, 12th century

Yusuf went to the docks to see if he would be as fortunate as Nicolo in finding employment. He was not. 

In the short time they stayed in the outer areas of Cairo, Yusuf has seen the docks shrink after Edessas. 

Fears of a new invasion by the Franks haunts Cairo's citizens. By the time he and Nicolo arrived in Cairo, the news of the armies of two kings and the failed siege of Damascus had spurred Cairo to pull in their wealth behind their walls. The surrounding areas and the docks slowly shriveled. Coin was no longer easily obtained. 

Many looked angry Yusuf dared to inquire about work. After a disappointing hour, Yusuf started to lose hope. Work was held tight to people’s chests these days. Generosity seldom flourish in time of war. 

But Nicolo somehow found work in the docks. A poor offering at first but the wages came more often than Yusuf's efforts to gild paper into fanciful scrolls. His wages freed Yusuf to continue his research. 

Yusuf had explored the libraries for any mention of immortality in every city they went. He fettered from one library to archives of mosques based on rumors. He copied what he could, but it took time. Too much time. And right now, the lands around them did not need guards or travel companions for caravans. Not when many chose to stay huddled in the doubtful safety of city walls because of the rumor of war.

Coin dwindled. Their funds for their search of the women in their dreams started to shrink as well. It was good luck he and Nicolo found work. 

But he did not wish for Nicolo to toil so long in the docks again. It was fortunate he found the elderly Aziz in the market.

"...and this one?" Aziz said, picking up the same manuscript from before. 

Then again...

The trader squinted at the scroll from Dirar's stall. When Yusuf heard the trader was about to sail into Catalonia and possibly even Portugal and wanted manuscripts, he retrieved what scrolls Dirar could not sell to show Aziz. 

It was good Dirar was not at the stall. Yusuf did not relish seeing the merchant, not yet and not without Nicolo. It felt like whatever he will do to Dirar must be done together.

"If you could do more greens? More of the flowers here? Can it be done?"

"Yes," Yusuf said patiently for the second time. "It can be. I would only need a day."

"And this one?" Aziz fumbled with another scroll that he only set down just before. "With more fish? I uh, would like it with more...birds at the bottom."

Yusuf's brow knitted. "More birds or more fish?"

Aziz looked startled. His cheeks jiggled as he coughed.

"More fish. More birds, of course." Aziz glanced out his stall, past the bolts of fabric that were still stacked high on his table.

"My apologies. I am taking too much of your time," Yusuf said as he started to rise from his chair. 

"No, no," Aziz said, shaking his grey head so hard his head cloth slipped over his bloodshot brown eyes. "Please, tell me about this one?" He held up another scroll with a wrinkled spotted hand. 

The parchment was a retelling of tale about the constellations he found in one of the libraries in Damascus. He told it to Nicolo and remembered how warm he felt in his belly as Nicolo listened with wide eyes and a parted mouth. He wrote the tale down and decorated the borders with the last of the yellow pigment. He dotted the corners with the stars he pointed out to Nicolo. He tied it with a leather strap Nicolo carefully trimmed off from one of his boots.

"Oh, ah," Yusuf fumbled. He was reluctant when he first gave it to Dirar. "That one, that one is not for sale."

To Yusuf's relief, Aziz did not object. The trader returned it to Yusuf, who clutched it over his lap so he would not forget it. He should show it to Nicolo again. Perhaps his friend would have suggestions on how to improve it. It was not ready for sale yet.

Aziz held up the previous scroll. "Can this have more greens?"

Yusuf bit back a sigh. He glanced out the stall as well. Morning was brightening to afternoon soon.

"And this one?" Aziz continued. "More birds?"

"Yes," Yusuf said slowly, careful to keep his voice light. "More birds."

Yusuf thanked Aziz, accepting the coins and the modest fold of fabric he will barter with Yazim to make a blanket. He stood outside Aziz's stall, savoring the weight of the coins in the purse fastened to his belt. 

How strange, Yusuf thought, how little things could bring such joy in a complicated life. He considered the other stalls, tempted to buy a bit of sweets to celebrate. He hoped Nicolo felt better this morning and was able to eat the bread. 

At the thought of his friend, Yusuf's gaze drifted to the distance where the docks lay. The coins were heavy in his pocket, but the weight was fleeting. Too quickly, they will be spent.

Yusuf nodded to himself. Fate granted him unexpected good fortune. Perhaps his luck will stay with him in the docks.

With one last look at Aziz's stall, Yusuf strode through the market for the docks once again.

He spotted him by the road.

The market faded into a worn path and a square patch of sand for horses and camels to wait for the baskets and sacks from the ships. The beasts have already left with their burdens for the inner streets of Cairo and afar. But there was a sole figure remaining on the rail used to tether the animals.

"Nicolo?" Yusuf hurried when he spotted the brown hair that covered half of Nicolo's face. Nicolo was hunched against the railing. He did not look up until Yusuf called him again.

"I was looking for you." Nicolo glanced behind his shoulder. "At the docks." 

"I was not as successful as you finding work in the docks." Yusuf studied Nicolo slouched against the railing. The rough wood could not be comfortable against Nicolo's back. He stepped in closer, his hip brushing against Nicolo to offer better support. "But I returned to try again." 

Yusuf smiled.

"I thought if I could not charm the merchants to give me work, perhaps my persistence would wear them down." 

Yusuf tried to catch Nicolo's eye, but Nicolo’s gaze kept wandering away. His smile faded.

"I hoped you would remain in the house and rest." Yusuf frowned at the belt that hung off Nicolo's hip and sagged halfway down his other hip.

"Did you bring your sword?" Yusuf peered past Nicolo's head at the ships that bobbed in the shallow waters. 

"Ah." Nicolo glanced down at himself. His hands brushed over and over his stomach. "My sword."

"Yes," Yusuf prodded gently. "Did you bring it? Where is it? It is not like you to bring it out here."

"Oh," Nicolo mumbled. He shook his head. "No sword. I...I was in a hurry to go to the docks. The belt...no...no sword." He exhaled. "I was looking for you. At the docks."

Yusuf fidgeted closer. He wished he wore his cloak this morning. Nicolo's shoulders stooped forward. He looked cold.

Suddenly, Nicolo straightened away from the rail and him. His shoulders curved back, stiff and tensed. It looked painful.

"What is it?" Yusuf's eyes darted to Nicolo's left hand that plucked his tunic by his middle. "Does your stomach still bother you?"

Nicolo's hand fell away.

"No." Nicolo stared out towards the market in the distance. Despite the harsh glare of the sun and the heat that made Yusuf's shirt stick to his back, Nicolo was pale.

"No," Nicolo said, "My stomach is fine." 

"It is fine," Nicolo repeated louder. 

Yusuf exhaled, relieved. "Then you were able to swallow the food with no ill?"

Nicolo nodded jerkily. Finally he looked up.

Yusuf's brow knitted. His hands flew up to Nicolo's shoulders.

"You do not look truly awake, my friend." Yusuf tightened his grip when it felt like Nicolo was about to sway out of his grasp. "Perhaps we should leave. I will seek work in the docks tomorrow."

Nicolo's hand drifted up and plucked at Yusuf's tunic.

"Do not go to the docks again," Nicolo said quietly.

Yusuf blinked. "What do you me—"

"There you are."

Yusuf felt Nicolo twitch as the voice rang out before running steps carried a thin man with a narrow face to them. He canted his head, bowing his head towards Yusuf, smiling broadly as he turned to Nicolo.

"You have left your wages, my friend," the man chided cheerfully, "You are lucky I, Badhl is honest!"

Yusuf's brow arched at the little palm sized sack that rested in Badhl's work scarred hand.

"You worked at the docks?" Yusuf fought to keep the frown from his voice. "You should have rested." To Badhl, Yusuf frowned. "My friend was not feeling well."

Badhl's smile stretched from ear to ear. "Do not worry. It was easy work for him. Most kept him off his feet." The bag of coins jingled. "But it was work that deserved good coin. My employer was pleased."

Nicolo reached over and snatched the bag before Yusuf could.

"Very pleased," Badhl repeated. "He hopes you will return to the docks very soon." His eyes twinkled as they swept over Nicolo's face. 

"Many hope you do." Badhl said, dropping to a murmur.

"Apologies," Yusuf interrupted. He moved his hands to drape an arm around Nicolo's shoulder. "I need his assistance in the libraries for the future. I fear he would not be able to come to the docks anymore." 

Yusuf's arm tightened around Nicolo's shoulders.

"We are going to the library now as well."

"Pity," Badhl commented. He glanced over to Yusuf speculatively. 

"He will be busy," Nicolo said stiffly. "If you need someone in the docks, ask for me."

Yusuf frowned. "Nicolo—"

"Ask for me," Nicolo bit out. He set his jaw. He did not look at Yusuf.

"They will all be pleased to hear," Badhl murmured.

For some reason, Nicolo slouched further under Yusuf's arm.

"Ah," Badhl patted a little pouch lashed to his hip. "How I forget. You were to be paid more." At Yusuf's look, Badhl grinned, yellow teeth showing. "Extra work."

Badhl pulled out a large copper piece. He held it up and extended it to Nicolo.

Nicolo glowered at the coin.

Badhl chuckled. "It is a fair wage, no? Our employers are always generous."

"And too demanding," Yusuf muttered. He was only gone for the morning. His poor friend looked as if he has not rested at all. 

Yusuf reached for the coin, stopping when Nicolo made a rough sound. Nicolo set his mouth into a grim line and plucked the coin out of Badhl's fingers. The copper piece slipped into the bag of coins with a loud clink.

Nicolo turned, Yusuf following when Badhl chuckled.

"Wait, wait, wait, Nicolo. I forget. It was not one. It was two, no, it was three, was it not?"

Yusuf narrowed his eyes at the dock worker.

"Which ship is your employer?" Yusuf asked thinly.

Badhl's grin wavered at Yusuf's scowl. He stuck out his thin chest.

"I work for many ships," Badhl declared. He smirked at Nicolo. Nicolo glared sideways at him. He did not turn around. 

"Like Nicolo." Badhl chuckled under his breath. "No...Maybe not like Nicolo, yea?"

Nicolo jerked out from under Yusuf's arm. He stalked over to Badhl. Badhl's smile wavered some more and he paled visibly despite the olive tan on his leathery skin. 

Without a word, Nicolo's palm lashed out like a sword strike.

Just as silent, Badhl dropped the two extra coins into Nicolo's hand.

Nicolo stared hard at Badhl. His jaw flexed. But he did not offer any words. He turned sharply, his back straight as if a spear was lodged in his spine. He walked evenly, not quickly, away from Badhl, not slowing even after Badhl slyly bid him farewell.

Yusuf studied Badhl, his lips pursed. Badhl smirked back.

"Good luck with your art," Badhl muttered and he slinked away, hurrying once he reached the safety of the docks. Yusuf could not track which ship Badhl entered. The dock worker disappeared quickly among the rushing men and barrels.

Nicolo was almost out of his sight. Yusuf tore his eyes away from the docks and hurried after Nicolo. 

He did not see where Nicolo has gone.

Yusuf’s heart thundered, battering his chest as he craned to see where Nicolo was. He last caught sight of Nicolo marching stiff limbed into the market. He disappeared between two stalls. Nicolo did not seem to have heard Yusuf call him as well.

The fabric in his fist was damp with sweat as he clutched it and the constellation scroll to his body. His other hand clenched around the dagger strapped to his upper thigh. He did not know why, but his heart demanded it. And he never failed to listen. After all, it was the one that told him to find the Frank who shared his affliction. It was a decision Yusuf clutched gladly to his heart as strongly as the scroll and cloth.

There!

Nicolo was standing in front of a stall, blankly staring at the inks and powders for stains. He stood apart from the wares, a fist held up in front as if he was uncertain if he wanted to strike out or not. Yusuf slipped next to him, careful not to touch him. Something told him not to touch Nicolo. Not right now.

The merchant was haggling with another about the decorative pigments on his table. Yusuf recalled declining to look the first time he passed the stall. It was a temptation, one they could not afford. 

“I had a dream of the women this morning,” Nicolo said. He did not glance over to Yusuf. He simply seemed to know Yusuf was there.

“I dreamt of them as well,” Yusuf murmured. He glanced over and realized Nicolo clutched the three copper coins in his trembling fist.

“The archer...She wore robes of that color.”

Nicolo did not point, but Yusuf’s eyes drifted to the tin pot of red ink. It was red as a ripe pomegranate. He thought it was a wondrous color for her. She looked fiery as the taller one. They looked like warriors yet with gentle hearts.

“It was the color of the blood I often saw on my hands,” Nicolo added. His eyes drifted to the other pots of ink. He stood so still, Yusuf would have believed Nicolo fell asleep.

“Nicolo...” Yusuf murmured, distressed. He shifted closer. He reached over and brushed the back of a finger against a thin wrist bone.

The copper coins rattled to the ground.

Nicolo uttered something under his breath. He crouched down to pick them up. Yusuf bent to help. He started when Nicolo knocked his hand away before he could pick up a single coin.

“I...sorry,” Nicolo muttered. His head dropped and rose immediately after. He snatched the coins before Yusuf could even spot them.

Yusuf frowned at the streaks of blood on Nicolo’s fingertips. Nicolo scraped too close the the ground. When Nicolo saw where his eyes were, he scrubbed his hand clean on the hem of his tunic.

“Healed,” Nicolo murmured. He showed Yusuf his hand.

Yusuf wrapped his hand on the unsteady fingers. Nicolo stared at Yusuf.

“Healed, yes,” Yusuf said. He studied Nicolo’s face. His mouth crinkled sadly. “But are you better?”

Nicolo’s face went slack. He wore an empty look Yusuf seen once on a pale invader shackled and left for dead and resigned to it. It was that look, Yusuf now realized, that made him hack away the chains so harshly it blunt his scimitar.

“Nicolo,” Yusuf began.

Nicolo’s expression flickered with a flash of despair that felt like a dagger to Yusuf’s heart, and then it was gone. Nicolo rose to his feet, clutching the copper coins as if he would rather toss them.

Yusuf slowly rose to his feet as well. He felt lightheaded, unsure if he have truly seen it, dreading that he did.

“I...” Nicolo sounded small. “I do not think I would be much help in the library today.”

Yusuf’s brow knitted. He remembered and made a face.

“Uh, no, no library.” Yusuf shrugged when Nicolo glanced over. “It was a lie.”

“A lie,” Nicolo repeated numbly.

How does he explain he feared they wanted Nicolo to work at the docks again? How does he explain he feared Nicolo would say yes?

Yusuf shrugged again. “I am selfish. I grew weary of ink and texts and wished for company in my laziness.” He darkened. “And I did not like they will not let you rest.”

Heat flushed Yusuf’s cheeks. If only Nicolo would stop staring.

“It...it was a necessary lie,” Yusuf fumbled.

Nicolo broke his gaze. He studied the pots of inks instead. The merchant scowled at Nicolo’s bowed head and went to ply his attentions to another.

Yusuf wanted to kick the table and watch the ink mix into a useless puddle in the ground.

“A necessary lie,” Nicolo repeated. He sounded thoughtful.

“We...we could go explore the market,” Yusuf suggested hesitantly. “We have not seen it all. Or...or we could sit by the river. I have learned about those strange long legged birds. I could tell you about them.”

Nicolo seemed to shrink under Yusuf’s eye.

“We could go home,” Yusuf murmured. He patted the scroll tucked under his arm. He stepped closer to Nicolo. “There is a scroll I would like to show you again. We could go home, hm?”

Nicolo nodded. His shoulders drooped.

“All right,” Yusuf murmured. He slipped his arm over Nicolo’s shoulders. He can’t seem to stop from touching Nicolo. There was a yearning to feel his friend close by, within reach and well.

“All right,” Yusuf said, hushed, “We go home.”

Nicolo excused himself the moment they returned. He went to borrow the large wooden basin from their neighbor Yazim. The widow often left it out so they can share it to wash their clothes or fill it with water to wash themselves. Yusuf offered to boil water for his bath first. Nicolo said he was fine to clean himself with the cool water from the well.

Yusuf also drew enough water from the well for tea and the broth the tea merchant had taught him. A bit of salted fish, the dried herbs and the last of the shin went into their small pot after the water boiled. He balanced hearty chunks of bread on the pot lid like this morning so they would soften and warm.

While Nicolo washed, Yusuf used some of the boiled water for tea. He frowned, wondering where the other cup went. His frown deepened when he spotted a shard on the floor. Ah, that would explain why Nicolo abruptly walked ahead of Yusuf when they drew near their pathway.

“I broke the cup,” Nicolo murmured. He stood by the door, his hair damp, his reddened cheeks only now paling from the harsh scrubbing Nicolo favored of recent. Yusuf sometimes found spots of blood on the rags they used for bathing, but Nicolo never said so Yusuf did not ask.

“It is fine,” Yusuf reassured Nicolo. “Were you able to drink all the tea?”

Nicolo nodded.

Yusuf beckoned Nicolo with a hand. “Do not stand by the door. You will be cold.”

Nicolo remained by the doorway. He looked lost.

Yusuf walked over to Nicolo. He settled his hands on Nicolo’s shoulders.

“You are shivering.” Yusuf frowned. “I should have heated the water for you first.”

Nicolo shook his head. “I am not cold.”

“Lies,” Yusuf said lightly as he guided Nicolo to his pallet.

“A necessary lie.” Nicolo laughed strangely.

“Perhaps but also an obvious one.” Yusuf sat down with Nicolo. He reached behind and unfurled the blanket and wrapped it around his friend’s shoulders. He kept his arm around Nicolo to keep the blanket in place. He sat there, his eyes watching the pot, comforted by the fact Nicolo stopped trembling.

Nicolo sighed. He slumped against Yusuf.

“You forgot where my bed is again,” Nicolo mumbled.

Yusuf chuckled. He pulled Nicolo closer to him, heartened Nicolo let him.

“My bed is warmer because you foolishly gave me the one closest to the fire.” Yusuf paused.

“Unless you secretly wish my bed will lit on fire and set me aflame in my sleep?” Yusuf chortled at the thought.

“I have done enough harm to you.” Nicolo fidgeted to get out from under Yusuf’s arm.

Yusuf tightened it, tucking Nicolo’s face to his shoulder. He was glad at this angle, Nicolo can not see how his face burned.

“That is in the past,” Yusuf rasped. “And I recall I dealt as much on to you then.”

“I deserved it,” Nicolo said sadly. He pressed his face harder over Yusuf’s shoulder.

“Stop it.” Yusuf shook Nicolo but Nicolo refused to look up. “Stop this. Why are you—what is this?” It has been years since Nicolo grieved about his role in Antioch.

Nicolo shook his head.

“Why are you burdened with such thoughts again?” Yusuf whispered. “Do you know how much it hurts me to see you suffering like this?”

“Why would it hurt you?” Nicolo rasped as if it pained him to talk.

Yusuf swallowed. He took a breath to shore up his nerve.

“I feel a thousand deaths when you are like this,” Yusuf said hesitantly. “And I am willing to suffer a thousand more to find a way to give you joy.”

Nicolo was silent against Yusuf. He was still. Yusuf did not feel brave enough to see if Nicolo has perhaps fallen asleep.

“I find myself waking up every morning wondering how I can make you smile,” Yusuf continued. “I go to sleep dreaming about how to bring you joy.”

Against Yusuf, Nicolo’s breath stuttered.

Yusuf’s eyes burned. He forced himself to look at the pot lest embarrass himself by weeping.

“I feel you fading against me and I do not know why,” Yusuf whispered. “You tell me ‘Later’ but can that not be soon? Can that not be now? Please, what has bled you in front of me? Where is your wound that I may heal?”

Nicolo exhaled. He seemed to collapse into Yusuf. His breath felt shallow and cool against Yusuf’s arm.

“I will be fine soon,” Nicolo said. He breathed deep and released it slow. It sounded hollow. Nicolo felt hollow.

“You sound so sure,” Yusuf said into Nicolo’s damp hair. It smelled faintly like a familiar spice. How odd. He rubbed his chin into the top of Nicolo’s hair.

“You make it sound like a season that will pass,” Yusuf mused. He pulled the ends of the blanket tighter around Nicolo.

“It will be over soon.” Nicolo hesitated. “And then...We could...we could move into the city? By the libraries? Or leave Cairo and find the women in our dreams?”

Yusuf closed his eyes briefly. He thought quickly of what they have and what precious metals and gems they were able to collect so far.

“Yes,” Yusuf lied. “We have the coins.”

“Yes,” Nicolo said. He sounded strange, absentminded. “We will.”

“Ah,” Yusuf tsked. “I have great news. I was eager to tell you but have forgotten when I found you in the docks.”

Nicolo tensed and pulled away. He remained huddled within the blanket, but he stared at Yusuf with wary eyes.

“You said you did not find work at the docks,” Nicolo said tersely.

“And I did not.” Yusuf gestured towards the small curl of fabric on the table. “I have found another to sell my scrolls. Aziz in the market wished to buy them. He has even paid a portion to ensure I sell to no one else.”

Nicolo stared at Yusuf.

“Aziz,” Nicolo said slowly, testing the name in his mouth. “Yes, that is good news.”

Yusuf wondered why Nicolo did not look as pleased. Nicolo looked weary, smaller under the blanket like it weighed him down.

“Yes,” Yusuf said gently. He grasped one of Nicolo’s wrists. He felt lightheaded like when he was at Aziz’s stall when Nicolo did not pull away.

“With what he promised, we will have healthy funds.” Yusuf carefully rubbed the round bone that jutted out from Nicolo’s wrist.

“You are so thin,” Yusuf murmured. “Thinner than we first met. Please do not go to the docks any more. I will make more art, sell more scrolls. Aziz’s interest is promising. We need not worry about coin.”

“Not go to the docks?” Nicolo sounded wistful.

Yusuf nodded. “Rest. Eat. Go to the libraries with me every day. We will read the texts together. You will read the Arabic horribly of course but it would greatly entertain me—“

Yusuf huffed when Nicolo kicked his hip, a weak blow, but Yusuf could not help but grin.

“You look like a fool like that,” Nicolo told him. He sat back against the wall. His smile was faint, his eyes still looked so weary.

“You have lost your mind. You forget your bed. You want to do pointless things for me. And now you grin like a fool.” Nicolo shook his head.

“I grin because of the joy I feel that I can make you happy. It is never pointless.” With a boldness Yusuf did not think he possessed, he grasped both of Nicolo’s hands. He pulled the cool fingers to his mouth. He brushed his lips across the knuckles.

“A few days,” Yusuf murmured against Nicolo’s fingers, “In a few days I will see Aziz and receive his coin. A few days, Nicolo.”

“A few days,” Nicolo echoed. “Yes, it will be fine. In a few days.” His fingers twitched in Yusuf’s grip.

Yusuf gazed at Nicolo. He kept his eyes on Nicolo as he brought up Nicolo’s hands to his lips. He kissed the knuckles.

Nicolo’s hands curled under Yusuf’s mouth. He sighed and tugged his hands away.

“The pot is boiled,” Nicolo murmured. His mouth twisted into a sad smile. “I think whatever poison you made is ready.”

Yusuf touched his own mouth. He felt giddy, a dizzy kind of euphoria when he caught Nicolo’s blue gray eyes drift to his lips before hastily looking away.

“I made broth,” Yusuf told Nicolo as he memorized the shy flush on Nicolo’s cheeks. “It smells like your feet when you take your boots off, but the healer in the stall said it will help with poor stomachs.”

Nicolo swung the bed’s cushion at Yusuf. Yusuf leaned in so it would connect with his head.

“You will eat?” Yusuf asked hopefully. Rest and food was all they could afford right now. He prayed their immortality will stave the worst of what ailed Nicolo. Yusuf would gladly do the rest. He was willing to starve to death if it spared food for Nicolo.

Nicolo exhaled. He nodded.

“I will eat.” Nicolo sat up straighter. “Here. Feed me this poison you have concocted.”

“Gladly.”


	8. (Nicolo) - Cairo, 12th century

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: scene contains a non-con, heavy trigger warning on the following flashback in this part.

_Dirar’s hand curled tight to the back of his neck._

_“You have not lay with anyone.”_

_He kept his eyes forward above the protruding object leaking between Dirar’s legs. He did not look to the left or right where the others waited. He fixed his eyes on the bone-white scar on Dirar’s stomach, a lightning bolt up to his throat. It was a scar from a sword from a war that should never have been._

_“He has knelt for plenty,” one muttered. Another laughed._

_Dirar’s hand squeezed his nape. The cabin darkened until Dirar released him._

_“Tell me,” Dirar demanded. “Have you?”_

_He needed to breathe through his nose. He needed to swallow quickly so he would not gag or vomit. He needed to keep his eyes open, past their ears, look like he’s gazing back as they..._

_The hand around his neck squeezed harder and then moved up into his hair._

_The hand gripped a fist of his hair and yanked, ripping a grunt from him before he could stop himself._

_The words he repeated again disappeared in a roar in his ears._

_Dirar’s face loomed close to his nose. Cardamom and figs filled his nostrils bitter and sweet._

_“Tell me.”_

_He glared, vision blurring as air was denied to him. He clenched his teeth, the last of his breath rattling in his throat as Dirar pulled. His head bent back. Too far. Too far. But no, he will not answer._

_A thought formed: if he dies, they will see him live. And then they will know about Yusuf._

_Jaw set, he shook his head once. Behind him, the men murmured. A knee pressed between his shoulders. Hot breath burned his ears. It reeked of rotting meat._

_He tensed._

_“No!” Dirar snapped. His hard grip loosened and smoothed down to his nape into a massage. His scowl turned considering, darkly pleased._

_“If anyone is to be his first, it will be m—“_

_He threw his head forward into Dirar’s nose._

_There was a wet cracking sound, but he did not wait to see what was the damage. He twisted away from the others. He reached out a hand for Dirar’s dagger tucked in the chair._

_A hand wretched his shoulder back. He felt it pop and he thrashed, letting the agony charge his limbs. He grunted, kicked out a foot, another snatched his hair, yanking back so hard, his eyes watered and his scalp boiled hot. He felt blood trickling down his face. A bloody clump of his hair flopped to the floor in front of him._

_Someone shouted, raged. He threw his body onto legs and felt people fall. He tried for the dagger again and hands grabbed him by his ankles and yanked before his fingers could touch the sheath._

_He cracked his chin on the floor, his air exploding out of his lungs. He felt a weight on his back, a hardening heat that made him recoil but there was nowhere to go._

_“No,” Dirar seethed as he pressed his body across his, the engorged length, the thing he refused to think about, rutted up against the back of his legs._

_Hands clamped over the back of his head. He could not see beyond the floor mottled with red and yellow smears of spice, the holes pocked the surface, a barley grain rolled past him. He could see that bloody clump of hair at the corner of his tearing eye. Under Dirar's knee, his shoulder slid back into place, healed silently under the cloak of the surrounding fury._

_Cardamom soaked fingers dug into his scalp._

_“I will have you,” Dirar spat out against his ear. He ground his object into the back of his leg. A hand gripped the back of his trousers, tugging. “I will gladly teach you what else you can offer besides your mouth.”_

_He grunted and hissed words in lingua that earned him a kick to his side. Something burned, fire scored his belly and down his hip. A bone broken, but they were all too frenzied to hear the bone snap back into pl—No!_

_His thoughts sharpened as he felt air on his buttocks. His mind scattered soon after and he could not grasp a thought as a thumb pressed into his taint, twisting when his body clenched on instinct._

_“Tight.” Dirar sounded pleased and angry at the same time. Blood dripped off Dirar’s broken nose and into his eye that flew open as the finger continued to twist, turning and pushing past the clench of his hole and it felt strange, it burned..._

_He choked, shouted out...something in Arabic, in lingua, in Greek, he was not sure. Yusuf teased he needs to have a better grasp at his words. He shouts in the wrong language too often—_

_Yusuf...Yusuf...he does not know what is happenin—he does not want this..._

_Something stretched inside, the finger stilled and he grunted, bucking, his legs caught in the bind of his trousers around his knees. Someone sneered. Another spat out a word he could not understand past the blood and heart screaming in his ears._

_Abruptly, the thumb pulled out. It only pushed in halfway, but when it left he felt he was gouged out with a blunt blade. He laid on the floor, eyes staring at the hair clump under his nose. Someone kicked it closer as he crowded in to—he did not know what this person wanted to do. He was unable to move, unable to think._

_His trousers were jerked back over him. He felt like a sack of grain tossed into a room, spilling broken and emptied. He bit back the gasp of relief. He breathed hard, willing the burning in his eyes to cease._

_Hands roughly flipped him over. He could only lay on his back, blinking furiously at Dirar kneeling on his shoulders._

_“I’ll pay you triple.” Dirar smoothed a hand down his face. Dirar patted his cheek. His hand reeked. Dirar chuckled when he snapped wordlessly at him._

_“I want you willing,” Dirar murmured. “I want you here, asking me to teach you. I want you willing to be taken, to be torn, to burn around my cock and thank me for it.”_

_Dirar never pulled up his trousers. The...object hung red and grotesque between his legs. Dirar held it loosely with a hand._

_He glowered up at Dirar. He twisted, trying to shake loose the hands gripping his ankles and the hand clamped over his brow, forcing his head back to stare wide eyed at Dirar._

_“I was your first with this.” Dirar stroked between his legs. The object twitched and leaked some more. He could not look away, forced to watch Dirar gather the beads of white with his yellow and dirt brown stained fingers._

_“I will be your last,” he said evenly. His belly twisted. It felt like snakes writhed and ate his insides as they hissed. He fought to speak louder so they can not hear his belly. “I will—“_

_“Will be here and be taken or watch Yusuf on his knees in your place,” Dirar snapped._

_His breath froze, caught in his throat._

_“You...” he managed, “You said you want them w-willing.” He fought to keep his voice steady. He failed. Someone above him snickered._

_“Does not matter to me either way," the one holding his ankles muttered._

_“Badlh,” Dirar snapped and the man silenced. Dirar touched his bleeding nose, his other hand still cradled the object, his thumb running down it slowly._

_“I do want you willing.” Dirar held out his fingers stained glistening white. “If I have to use another to do it, so be it.”_

_He snapped his teeth at Dirar. His heart hammered, his voice rising in unison._

_“And I would be willing to kill yo—no! No—“_

_He gagged as fingers wormed into his mouth. He tried to bite, his mouth gaping in a gasp when hands, too many hands clawed his face, slipping fingers into the corners of his mouth, prying his mouth open. Too many fingers. He can not bite. He can not breathe._

_Dirty fingers rubbed at the back of his throat. He tasted cardamom. He tasted the bitterness of—he did not know what it was, no, he did, no, it was not that, he—_

_He heard Dirar’s taunts on what he would do: to him, to Yusuf, what a man does to another man. Dirar told him what he would enjoy, begging as he bleeds from a torn hole, filled impossibly, hurt, of course it will hurt until it did not. Dirar would teach him. Dirar would show him how others would want to take pleasure from him. Dirar told him with gleaming eyes how much it would hurt, how much a murderous Frank like him would learn to enjoy it. Or else._

_Three days because he was too weak and too disgusting for Dirar to lay claim now. Three days and Dirar will have the filthy pale Frank writhing on the floor, gurgling around dirty objects and slurping even dirtier things. Three days before he gets on his hands and knees for coin._

_Dirar would be his first. Like he was with everything else._

_Or he would watch as they bring Yusuf here and..._

_He agreed with a choked, panicked sound before Dirar finished telling him. Dirar’s fingers slipped out, wrapped around the thick object and leaned in._

_“I knew you would say yes to me,” Dirar said. He looked over his shoulder at someone he could not see._

_"He is with Aziz," a voice said._

_When Dirar turned back, he smiled._

_"Then we have all morning," Dirar murmured as he guided the object to his mouth. Fingers pry his mouth wider._

Nicolo twitched. He gagged, tasted Dirar, tasted Gems, Sham...he tasted all of them in his mouth, caked between his teeth and congealed under his tongue.

His stomach cramped, churning everything inside his belly, hardening into a fiery lump. They never left. Every drop gathered and weighed him down to this existence. There was no room for anything else.

 _"I paid you to swallow."_

Nicolo's eyes flew open. He stared blankly as he pulled his knees to his chest. His stomach cramped terribly. He tried to drink the broth. Yusuf looked relieved as he agreed to another bowl and ate the bread. He sat on his pallet, huddled under the blanket—Yusuf insisted he take it—listening as Yusuf read the constellations tale with a hesitant voice. He has not heard Yusuf like that before. He wondered why Yusuf was pink along the ears and his cheeks above his beard. He hoped Yusuf was not ill. He hoped he did not infect Yusuf with the filth curdling in his belly.

Nicolo took the chamber pot outside, between houses, far enough away so he would not disturb anyone's sleep. After he was finished, he drew water from the shared well. He washed quickly by the well and rinsed his mouth. 

The water was cold. He still did not feel clean. 

When Nicolo crept back into their stone dwelling, he gazed down at Yusuf sleeping on his pallet. He slept in sleep clothes which puzzled Nicolo. It meant packing more. But Yusuf complained sleeping in clothing he wore all day itched. Nicolo agreed they itched, but even back as a child, who would spare more than one set of clothing to another? 

Nicolo did not understand why Yusuf was upset after he told him this.

Crouched down by Yusuf's pallet, Nicolo thought Yusuf did indeed look comfortable. He slept without the burden of sin. What was that like?

Nicolo rested his forehead on Yusuf's pallet. He wished he thought to take the blanket with him when he went outside. It was cold. His stomach ached. He did not want to go back to sleep. Dreaming hurts.

A hand rested on top of Nicolo's head. He startled, but the hand did not tug. It merely stayed on his head. It felt like an undeserved benediction. Nicolo felt selfish for taking it.

Drowsy brown eyes cracked open. Yusuf was always slow to wake. That was unwise when there was often a violent knock at the door or a blade pointed to his throat.

"What is the matter?" Yusuf said sleepily. He did not seem surprised to find Nicolo was kneeling by his bed. In fact, he appeared pleased.

Nicolo resisted swallowing. He still tasted them in his mouth. He wished he tasted Yusuf's soup instead, but it fled his belly outside by Yazim's fig tree. He wasted Yusuf's efforts. Everything Yusuf did, he ruined...

With a small sound—it tasted terribly trying to speak—Nicolo dropped his forehead back onto Yusuf's bed.

Yusuf's hand drifted to the back of his head. He did not pull the hair. He petted long strokes down Nicolo's hair.

"Is it your stomach again?"

Nicolo nodded. Necessary lie. He nodded once more.

"Ah." Yusuf sounded sad. "Perhaps it was too soon. Perhaps you should have started little first?"

"I am sorry," Nicolo croaked.

Yusuf shushed him. His hand continued to run through the back of Nicolo's head. Nicolo did not understand why it made him want to weep.

"Come here." Yusuf sat up. He gestured at Nicolo. "Here." He shifted back and patted a space on the bed.

Nicolo stared blankly at Yusuf. He stayed crouched by the bed.

Yusuf huffed, smiling drowsily, his eyes dark yet so fond. Nicolo's breath caught in his throat. He pulled his gaze away before he stared too long.

Yusuf's hands swept over Nicolo's shoulders. His palms were broad and warm but carried no pain. They grasp him but did not hurt. They coaxed Nicolo to rise, not to kneel.

Nicolo blinked, puzzled how he was now lying on his side, on Yusuf's bed when he was curled by Yusuf's bed, his hands pressed to his belly. His hands returned to his stomach to stop the lurch and cut of them boiling his insides. He no longer tasted them, but he could feel Dirar and the others gouging him from the inside. 

_"I paid you to swallow."_

_"I want you willing to be taken, to be torn, to burn around my cock and thank me for it.”_

_"I will be your first."_

Nicolo's stomach spasm. His jaw had ached when they finished. He did not remember getting back on his feet. He did not remember Dirar cleaning his face with a rag like he was a child. He did not remember being praised. He did not remember walking out of the ship.

He remembered how they tasted. He remembered how he swallowed. 

Nicolo's stomach lurched. He must have made a sound because Yusuf shushed him again. 

Yusuf's hand went around his middle and covered Nicolo's trembling hands over his stomach. 

"You are cold," Yusuf noted. He sounded more alert. Nicolo robbed him from sleep. "Did you go outside? Were you sick?"

Nicolo nodded tentatively. He blinked blearily at his pallet across from them. Why did he not go back there? 

"Ah Nicolo." Yusuf's body settled against his back. His hand pressed carefully with Nicolo's. "It hurt here?"

Nicolo could only nod again. He waited, but Yusuf did not feel heavy against him. Yusuf felt like Yusuf. Yusuf felt warm.

"Stay here then." Yusuf pulled Nicolo closer. He murmured, shushing when Nicolo flailed briefly. 

"Did I hurt you?"

Never. 

Nicolo shook his head. Yusuf's nose bumped into his nape. Nicolo flailed again, moving his head so Yusuf can not smell them on him.

"Sorry." Yusuf's hand started to move away, stopping when Nicolo croaked, "No. Please." His hand was a cloak over Nicolo's.

Nicolo listened to Yusuf murmured against his shoulder. 

"Before," Nicolo rasped. "What you said before."

Yusuf went quiet behind him. Nicolo was glad. He could pretend only the walls can hear him.

Nicolo blinked hard. His bed across from him blurred.

"The same," Nicolo said hoarsely. His throat ached. The objects had thrust deep. It felt like they were still scraping his throat raw, over and over, deeper the more he struggled. He couldn't breathe. He felt a tear escaped. he can not let this happen to Yusuf.

"I..." Nicolo swallowed and forced himself to get used to the taste. 

"The same. I...my words are not as...like yours, but I think the same."

Nicolo felt Yusuf's lips brush across his name. The urge to weep returned.

"I would do anything..." Nicolo whispered. He felt Yusuf's hand over his stomach press both their hands deeper. His stomach quieted.

"I am...willing to do..." Nicolo forced himself to swallow again. His throat tasted bitter. Perhaps he will spend eternity tasting them.

"What you said," Nicolo's voice shook. "The same, Yusuf. I...I feel the same."

"Nicolo," Yusuf breathed. He kissed Nicolo's shoulder. _"Hobi..."_

Nicolo listened to Yusuf drift back to sleep. Yusuf's hand remained holding his, loosen in slumber but as reassuring as him against his back, fighting sword to blade by his side.

It will be fine. Three days. They can leave in three days with enough coin. 

"I am willing," Nicolo whispered. He closed his eyes and prayed he does not dream.

"I did not see your sword."

Nicolo's cup stilled against his lips. His mind went blank. His sword? He remembered taking it, Yusuf's note, its scabbard scraped the deck when he took it off...

"I..." Nicolo sipped the tea Yusuf made after morning prayers. It tasted horrible, but it lingered in his mouth so it did not taste like something else. So when Yusuf made the special tea, Nicolo drank it.

"I did not see it here," Yusuf prodded when Nicolo took too long to speak. "I looked because I was going to clean it and my blade."

"I left it with a merchant." Nicolo kept his eyes fixed into the cup. "To...to see if he can find a good price." His stomach twisted.

Yusuf set down his pen. He had moved the table back to the bed again. It meant Nicolo stayed in Yusuf's bed while Yusuf sat on the bed, blocking the way. Nicolo did not mind. He spent the day sleepily watching Yusuf draw beautiful things on plain paper.

"Your sword?" Yusuf sounded so pained, Nicolo looked up. "Nicolo, you should not need to sell your sword. I would rather starve than leave you defenseless."

He could stand with a thousand men at his back and he would feel still defenseless.

Nicolo smiled faintly but it did not seem to assuage Yusuf. 

"I am not defenseless," Nicolo murmured. He pulled out the dagger from under Yusuf's bed cushion. "See? I have the dagger you gave me."

"Yes, well, ah, that is good." Yusuf's cheeks were pink again. Nicolo truly hoped Yusuf did not become ill because of him. 

"It is good you have it..." Yusuf grinned sloppily at Nicolo, acting drunk even though he does not drink. 

Yusuf sobered. "But you should not have to give up your sword." He started to rise to his feet.

"Which ship was it? I will get it back."

"No!" Nicolo cringed when he heard himself shout. Yusuf stared, shocked. 

"No," Nicolo repeated in a calmer voice. "There is no need. He will not sell it until I am there. I will get it back." His throat worked. "When you go to Aziz. I will retrieve my sword."

Yusuf frowned. "But that is three days away."

_"I will be your first."_

Yusuf studied Nicolo. His hand slipped over Nicolo's knee under the blanket.

"Are you sure?" Yusuf said quietly. "I am uncomfortable with the thought of you without your sword for so long. You do not look happy as well."

Nicolo reminded Yusuf by waving the dagger's sheath.

Yusuf chuckled. "Yes. Yes." He tapped the dagger with the blunt end of his pen. "Ah, ah, ah! Lower your weapon. In my bed, I prefer poking and be poked with something else."

Nicolo blinked down at the dagger, confused.

"You mean with a staff?" Nicolo said slowly. Why would Yusuf want a staff on his bed? Nicolo asked Yusuf this. Yusuf choked.

"No. What I meant, I mean, for...poking, that is to say, I..." 

"Did I misunderstood?" Nicolo frowned to himself. He was sure the word was 'poke.' 

Yusuf stared down on the table for some reason. He took a deep breath and turned away from the table. When he faced Nicolo, his expression was earnest. It made Nicolo sit higher on the bed.

"Nicolo," Yusuf asked, seriously. He squeezed Nicolo's knee under the blanket. "May I ask you a question?"

Nicolo's eyes drifted to Yusuf's throat. The beard stirred as Yusuf gulped. He studied the flush that burned brighter on Yusuf's ears.

Oh.

"No." Nicolo peered up at Yusuf's face. "I have not."

Yusuf's lips parted and then pressed together. His throat worked.

"No one? Woman or..." Yusuf cleared his throat. "...man?"

"No. You?" Nicolo asked evenly.

Yusuf smiled but it faded. He shrugged.

"Women? Yes. Men?" 

Yusuf shrugged again. 

"When I was a young man. There were some." Yusuf tried to smile again, but he seemed embarrassed.

"I enjoyed, but I have found no one—man or woman—I felt strong enough for eternity. Until now." Yusuf stared at Nicolo, his eyes slowly drifting from his head and lower.

Nicolo felt heated in places he was not sure what to do about. He dropped his gaze. 

"Does this bother you?" Yusuf asked, uncertain. It ached to hear.

"If it did," Nicolo returned hesitantly, "I would 'poke' you with this dagger."

Yusuf burst into chuckles that shook the bed under Nicolo.

"Ah Nicolo," Yusuf said. Nicolo did not look up but he can hear the smile in Yusuf's voice. "How lucky I am no one sees past your scowl and discover your wit. I get to keep this knowledge as my treasure."

"I am glad I can be of some value," Nicolo told him. He leaned back at the wall. 

"You...of some..." Yusuf covered his face with a hand. He lowered his hand and studied Nicolo.

Nicolo stared back. "What?"

Yusuf shifted, sitting deeper into the bed. He swept a hand over Nicolo's knee. Nicolo felt the heat of Yusuf's palm even through the blanket. He squirmed.

"Dear Nicolo." Yusuf murmured. "If only I knew the words to tell you."

"Tell me what?" Nicolo watched Yusuf as he crawled up to him on the bed.

"Our words are pitiful to describe..." Yusuf shook his head. He knead Nicolo's thigh under the blanket. His eyes were dark, endless and open. Nicolo could see himself reflected in Yusuf's eyes.

"Good?"

Nicolo mutely nodded. He closed his eyes when Yusuf swung a leg over his legs. He could feel Yusuf's weight, his body solid and familiar.

Yusuf settled carefully over Nicolo. He pulled Nicolo, rolled him until they were lying down on the bed, lying sideways, facing each other.

Nicolo wondered if Yusuf could hear his heart hammering, if he could see the stains in the corners of Nicolo's mouth.

Yusuf palmed the side of Nicolo's face, stilling him before he could hide his face.

"And this? This good?"

Nicolo could only nod again. He made a sound, twitching when Yusuf settled closer. Closer until their chests touched every time they breathed. A hot length brushed briefly against Nicolo's thigh.

_“I will gladly teach you what else you can offer besides your mouth.”_

Nicolo's breathing sped up. Dirar's taunts scalded his ears. What if Yusuf wanted...that? He swallowed. And swallowed. The bitterness sharpened on his tongue, but his mouth went drier and drier.

Yusuf carded a hand through Nicolo's hair. He studied Nicolo.

 _Do not look at me._ Nicolo did not know what he was supposed to look like.

Nicolo could not bear Yusuf's searching gaze. He dropped his head onto Yusuf's shoulder.

Yusuf hummed. His hands wandered, following the line of Nicolo's spine. His leg slipped between Nicolo's.

Nicolo's stomach sank in as he sucked in a breath. Sour rose up his throat like vomit. He mumbled, sounds because he could not think of words. He felt ill. He felt overly hot. He wanted. He feared. He wanted Yusuf to hold him. He wanted Yusuf to stay away from him for his own good.

Yusuf kissed Nicolo's forehead.

"Nicolo," Yusuf exhaled. " _Hobi._ What do you want? Tell me. Anything."

Nicolo felt Yusuf's hand wander, measuring and deciding. He waited for Yusuf to tell him to kneel. 

Nicolo burrowed closer until their noses bumped. 

"Yusuf," Nicolo exhaled. "I want to be better for you." 

Yusuf's hand suddenly stopped. He left it on Nicolo's lower back.

"Ah." Yusuf sighed. "I want you to be better for yourself."

Yusuf hugged Nicolo to him, tucking Nicolo's head under his chin. His beard tickled Nicolo's temples.

_"I will have you."_

Or he would have Yusuf. No, no, he can not allow that. He forced himself to breathe slower against Yusuf. He will be fine. He will heal. Hurts will heal. 

"Let us stay here today," Yusuf said. He rubbed Nicolo's back. "Here. You. Me. No library. No docks. No market. I work on the art for Aziz and you tell me the tales to fill the spaces in your horrible Arabic."

Nicolo thumped his head on Yusuf's chin. Yusuf shook against him with silent laughter.

"I would do anything," Nicolo murmured. "To hear you laugh like this."

"Ah, like music, yes?"

"Like Yazim's cat farting but nicer smell."

Yusuf's laughter rose and he embraced Nicolo as if he was something precious. It helped Nicolo hold up a smile on his face. It helped him eat the meal of bread and stewed figs. And when Yusuf shared his bed with Nicolo again at night, Nicolo almost believed he can still have this after Yusuf finds out the truth.


	9. (Yusuf) - Cairo, 12th century

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: remember the tags listed for this story please :)

Nicolo, his dear Nicolo, was too thin. As Yusuf held Nicolo in the bed, his eyes filled when he realized he could feel Nicolo’s rib cage against his arm through his tunic. 

The bread and figs were a pitiful dinner, but it was all Nicolo could manage to eat. Yusuf wanted to offer more. Yazim brought over more stew, grateful for Yusuf’s barter of service to help her write a letter and Nicolo fixing the buckets for the well their cluster of dwellings share. Nicolo was surprised and flustered when he learned it was in exchange for a blanket for Nicolo’s bed. 

Yazim’s stew was rich with pigeon meat, steeped in cardamom and lemony squash. It was a hearty stew that sat comfortably in Yusuf’s belly. Nicolo thanked Yazim, sincere and grateful that left the young widow looking longingly at his back. But Yusuf caught how Nicolo’s throat worked, his lips bloodless pressed together. 

So Yusuf ate the stew while Nicolo washed (again outside in the cold night) before Nicolo returned and catch any scent. He tucked Nicolo against him in hopes the warmth from the food would seep into Nicolo at least. 

Nicolo huffed, tolerating sitting on his bed with Yusuf pressed close. Yusuf tore small chunks of bread for Nicolo while Nicolo haltingly read the scrolls Yusuf drew up for Aziz. Nicolo argued with Yusuf how one scroll did not need more birds but perhaps one of the menacing scaly creatures with the long flat snout and short stumpy legs they spotted when they first came. 

Yusuf drew Yazim’s temperamental black and white cat instead. He told Nicolo it was him. Nicolo tossed the last fig at Yusuf so Yusuf needed to wash his hair before bed.

But figs and bread was a poor dinner even if the night itself felt full and bright. Nicolo’s smile was not convincing, but Yusuf appreciated how much of an effort it took. So he said nothing about it, but made sure the tale he told Nicolo was embarrassing, full of loud gestures and exasperation. He was rewarded with a more genuine chuckle from Nicolo. He could have his fill from Nicolo's laughs; he would never starve.

Yusuf brushed the tip of his nose under Nicolo’s ear. He snuffled into the skin, softer than the finest silks of the East.

“Sh,” Yusuf murmured when Nicolo stirred. Yusuf hummed as Nicolo muttered in lingua. He hummed as Nicolo’s arms wrapped tighter around himself, not because he was cold. Yusuf suspected it was because no one held Nicolo as such. So he wrapped his arms around Nicolo’s and layered the embrace. 

Yusuf hummed under his breath, waiting for Nicolo to settle again. Nicolo was a light sleeper, quick to wake, but of late, his slumber was more restless. The furtive hours left Nicolo already tired as he head out to the docks. 

Nicolo squirmed, his muttering growing distressed. Yusuf rubbed Nicolo's forearm, hummed under Nicolo's ear. As Nicolo sighed and slept, Yusuf went through what coin they have left in his mind, what they can spare.

The unexpected fortunes from Aziz meant regular meals for both of them for the week. However, he would need to get more tea and figs soon. The tea seemed to be helping. Nicolo’s appetite was slowly returning. 

Perhaps after Aziz, when Yusuf’s purse is full once again, he would buy some flatbread and sugared dates as well. He would take Nicolo to the Nile and point out those strange long-legged birds he learned from the libraries. And there, perhaps he would kiss Nicolo, taste the sugared dates in Nicolo’s mouth and lick the salt of Nicolo’s skin.

...Oh. He should not have thought of that.

Yusuf’s thoughts and the heat of Nicolo’s body against him stirred something hot and thick. His cock filled, faster than he could figure out how to alleviate it. He rolled his hips back, not wishing to shock or intimidate Nicolo with the heft of Yusuf’s desire. But Nicolo stirred in his arms again, his lower back brushing against Yusuf’s groin. Yusuf could not stop the choked groan from escaping.

Nicolo stilled.

Yusuf rested his head between Nicolo’s shoulders. 

“Sorry,” Yusuf offered breathlessly. “Let me...go back to sleep. I will be back.”

Nicolo nodded, but said nothing. He did not look at Yusuf even when Yusuf brushed the hair away from Nicolo’s ear as he climbed over, careful not to brush against Nicolo. 

Yusuf took the washing rag with him. He thought he felt Nicolo’s eyes on him as he crept out of their little home.

There was a sheltered spot between the fig tree and a flowering bush. Yusuf drew a little water in a pail and hunched by the bush. He felt awkward, crouched between houses and away from prying eyes. He bit his lower lip as he pulled his cock out, his trousers hanging off the hitch of his hips.

Yusuf hurried, rough dry hands pulling and rolling to give him a quick release that would most likely be unsatisfying, but he felt exposed out here. He was not a youth anymore and blind to everything except for the stroke of his hand.

However, Yusuf remained shaky with the weight and heat between his legs. He licked his palm, tried again but all it did was make him ache more.

He thought of Nicolo’s eyes, his mouth, the way his eyes could laugh even if his mouth did not. He thought of how pink his mouth is, how it pursed when he was displeased, how it curved when he was happy. And his voice: a low blur of deep notes. Oh how it rolled out no matter what language they spoke. The way Nicolo’s mouth shaped when he murmured Yusuf’s name.

He bit his lower lip as he palmed his cock, still weeping, still full and tried to pump without too much noise.

"Nicolo," Yusuf could not help but murmured. 

It felt like just the name was enough. He came warm and plenty around his tight fist. He was dizzy with the release, Nicolo's name left his mouth tingling and pleasant. Just his name...he marveled how strange their lives have turned and yet how miraculous as well. 

Yusuf sagged, leaning on the bush. It shivered under his weight and shed a few pointy yellow petals by his feet. He grimaced as he cleaned himself with the rag and water. He picked up the fallen blossoms, idly rubbing them with his fingers. He blinked as a scent rose.

It smelled minty, like marjoram. Yusuf briefly wondered if Nicolo could tolerate this scent. He shook his head when he realized he was contemplating bringing Nicolo flowers. 

"He would run his sword through you," Yusuf muttered, chuckling to himself. 

Yusuf's good mood faded. Brow knitting, he glance back to the house.

"Where _is_ your sword?" Yusuf murmured. He brushed his hands clean of the flowers. They left his hands smelling nice, better than before. He mulled about the belt that hung loose around Nicolo's hips, untethered from the sword that normally hung there. Why did Nicolo—

Yusuf jumped when he spotted eerie amber feline eyes staring unblinking at the foot of the fig tree. He gaped at the creature, his heart pounding in his throat.

"Where did you come from, demonic beast?" Yusuf gasped. His thoughts scattered.

Yazim's cat balefully stared up at Yusuf.

Yusuf scowled back.

"Do not judge," Yusuf warned Yazim's cat as he gestured towards the rag. "I am out here because he...He...I should not...he and I...slow, yes? He is not a mouse to pounce on."

With a tiny huff, it went around the tree, shot up its tail at Yusuf and nimbly went back into the widow's window across their home.

Yusuf muttered under his breath. He glanced down at his groin. It had stirred when he said 'pounce.' He pressed his heel on the base, grimacing at the ache but at least he was better suited for bed.

With Nicolo.

"Do not," Yusuf seethed to himself as his body reacted. One would think he has not have sex in centuries not decades. He had satisfied his urges when there was coin to spare for inns and separate rooms. He had assumed Nicolo did the same. He did not realize...

Yusuf glanced down at himself again, relieved his urges yielded to sense. 

No, now is not the time. Now is the time to coax Nicolo to eat more, smile more and banish the dark thoughts and guilt that has found Nicolo again for some reason. 

After that, perhaps along the Nile, under the glittering stars in the desert, the shores and lush greens of the East...

Nodding to himself, Yusuf straightened his sleep clothes, blew warm breath into his cupped hands and returned to Nicolo.

Nicolo looked like he was asleep, still curled on his side with his arms around his middle. Yusuf studied the bed, wondering how he could crawl back behind Nicolo without waking him.

But when Yusuf drew near, Nicolo opened drowsy eyes up at him.

"I did not mean to wake you," Yusuf murmured. He wanted to touch Nicolo's face, but his hands were still chilled from outside.

Nicolo nodded. He ran his tongue over his lower lip. He swallowed and his breath quickened.

"I..." Nicolo rasped. His eyes were level to Yusuf's knees and it was to them he rasped, "I could do it."

Yusuf blinked. "Do what?"

Nicolo reached across and traced the length of Yusuf's thigh with a finger. 

"I..." Nicolo's tongue darted in and out as he fought for words. He sounded awake. It did not sound like he slept at all.

"If it happens again." Nicolo's finger drew a line around Yusuf's left knee. "I could do that for you. You need not leave. It is cold out."

Yusuf hunched down, sitting on his heels so he could look at Nicolo. Eyes like faraway seas gazed back.

"It is fine," Yusuf murmured. "We have time to learn about each other and what is good." He dropped his hand on the side of Nicolo's head. "I do not mind." He paused.

"But perhaps on the other side of the house. Yazim's cat seems to want to claw me."

Nicolo's mouth curled up.

"It is because you stepped on her tail once."

Yusuf scoffed. "It should not have been under my foot."

Nicolo huffed. His mouth flattened. Even on his side, Nicolo looked awake and shadowed.

"Next time, I could do it."

Ah, Nicolo. Yusuf was not sure if Nicolo understood what he offered, but Nicolo's sincerity warmed him.

"All right," Yusuf agreed. He rubbed his thumb down Nicolo's nose. He thought of the statues he saw on Roman shores when he traveled with his father. How proud they stood. How beautiful they looked in their painted stone flesh. 

"Next time," Nicolo insisted as Yusuf climbed over him.

"Of course," Yusuf murmured. He kissed Nicolo's ear. He will never tire of it. "Next time. Go to sleep. I have many more scrolls to draw for Aziz and you have many more tales you need to recite to me in your atrocious Arabic." He chuckled when Nicolo pulled back his elbow. 

"All right, all right. Your Arabic was what charmed me. The soothing sounds of a strangled cat. Such paradise to my ears—Oof."

Yusuf hugged Nicolo to his chest, chuckling as he kissed Nicolo's shoulder, his neck and his ear while avoiding another elbow. 

"All right, stop, stop," Yusuf laughed, "I surrender. Desist before your bony elbow cuts me down. What a pitiful death that would be."

"I could do it for you," Nicolo repeated, his voice stronger. 

Yusuf nodded against Nicolo's nape. His hair held a faint scent.

"Hm," Yusuf murmured. "Your hair...smells like..." He frowned. "I can not recall. I will remember later I am sure."

Nicolo breathed sharply against Yusuf.

"Please know," Nicolo whispered. He sounded sad. Yusuf tugged Nicolo closer. "I do this all willing."

"Sh, all right," Yusuf soothed. "Next time."

"Later," Nicolo said, his voice still sad.

Yusuf did not reply as he sank into dreams of strange birds, Nicolo's rare laugh and little cats under fig trees.

Yusuf and Nicolo woke to dreams of the warrior women again. They were magnificent in their battles, movements fluid as one. He roused to Nicolo looking thoughtfully at Yusuf.

They spent the morning breaking fast after Yusuf's morning prayers. Sideways glances as eggs were cooked and bread was covered in thin coats of stewed fruit. Nicolo ate his bread plain, but also accepted half an egg. Yusuf wanted to do something foolish, exult to Allah or embrace Nicolo hard enough his bones would squeak. Instead, he pulled out his paper and inks. Nicolo sat across from him to read the notes Yusuf copied last week. 

They did not talk. They did not look at each other. But Yusuf could hear Nicolo breathing, a murmur under his breath as he tried a word over and over. Sometimes he asked Yusuf for correction. Sometimes he did not. He left when Yazim asked for someone tall enough to picked figs off the top of the tree. He came back with an afternoon meal of steaming bowls of grain. Yusuf's was piled with fish. Nicolo's was plain. They ate, with their shoulders brushing, and chatted idly about what Nicolo was able to read so far or what Yusuf should draw next. 

If he did this for eternity, he would be content.

Yusuf glanced over at Nicolo, who scowled at the notes Yusuf copied. The libraries in Cairo were plentiful but restrictive. Some required coin. Others required favors. Yusuf heard rumors of some of the favors some were required to dole out. It sickened and saddened him.

"Knowledge was shared freely," Yusuf murmured. Nicolo glanced up. The tired squint in his eyes faded quickly with their healing. If only the weary air that hung over Nicolo was this easily remedied.

Yusuf nodded to the notes. Nicolo whittled a thin stick out of a twig to use to trace Yusuf's writing to save on ink and paper. The stick was bent from long use. Nicolo would need to find another twig soon to carve out.

"When I was a boy, my father talked about the great libraries of Alexandria, the great house _Bayt al-Ḥikmah_ in Baghdad. They shared books freely, shared their wisdom gladly." Yusuf gestured to his notes pinned under Nicolo's elbow.

"Here. Some came at a cost." Yusuf shook his head again. "That should not be the way."

"I copied books," Nicolo said quietly. He tapped his pointing stick at the note on top of the stack. "And when my pen was better, I was given manuscripts to copy." He lifted a shoulder. He tapped the stick at the sheets of clean paper. 

"But it was only Latin and the Church's words again and again. Knowledge was not given freely. There was none to give."

Nicolo's lips lifted at a corner.

"Or at least to people like me. We were given to He, given to learn his word and die for his words." Nicolo shook his head. "We did not learn anything else. Except to use our swords."

This was not what Yusuf intended when he spoke. Nicolo gazed at Yusuf's notes with a sorrowful expression.

"You were not part of 'We' since you tried to help that widow and boy," Yusuf said. "When you used your sword for something besides invasion."

Nicolo's eyes flicked over to Yusuf. He turned back to the notes.

"Nicolo," Yusuf said. he waited until Nicolo glanced over. "Where is your sword?"

Bleak eyes slid away. 

"I told you." 

"That you left it with a merchant, you did say that." Yusuf reached over for Nicolo's hand on the table. Nicolo's hand slipped out of reach.

"I also said I will get it back." Nicolo looked up. "It is getting dark. Do you want the rest of the stew?"

Yusuf tracked Nicolo to the hearth. He watched as Nicolo started a small fire.

"I have seen you fight bare handed through three bandits to get your sword back," Yusuf said quietly. "And yet you relinquish your weapon readily to a stranger?"

Nicolo stayed seated cross-legged in front of the fire. 

"We need coin," Nicolo said. "I left the sword as part of an...agreement." He nodded as he hung the small pot that contained the rest of the stew." He made a face at the smell when he lifted the lid. Then, setting his jaw, Nicolo lowered his head and took a deeper breath.

The lid clattered back over the pot when Nicolo twisted around and gagged.

"Nicolo!" Yusuf dropped to his knees and braced a hand against Nicolo's back. He felt Nicolo breathe harshly through his teeth. He hung his head and glowered at the floor.

"The chamber pot is by your left hand," Yusuf told Nicolo. He rubbed the bowed back slowly.

The rattle under Yusuf's hand settled. Nicolo took a deep breath.

"I do not need it." Nicolo lifted his head. He leaned into Yusuf's hand. "I am fine."

"If the smell bothers you this much," Yusuf murmured, "There is the salted fish and a bit of the fowl we can cook into broth."

"We should not waste the food," Nicolo said with some effort. "I will eat something else. The bread or the egg—no, it is the last one."

"Yazim brought us _feteer_ ," Yusuf reminded. "And the fish?" Nicolo hesitated. He shook his head.

"The stew," Nicolo decided. "We should not waste Yazim's efforts."

"You can not tolerate the smell, how are you expecting to eat it?" Yusuf narrowed his eyes when Nicolo shrugged again. 

"You are eating something. I refuse to be poked and stabbed by your bony limbs any more."

Nicolo mouthed "Poke" to himself. He looked over to Yusuf, his mouth twisted. 

"The fish," Nicolo relented. "As long as I cook it. What little appetite I have will vanish with what you prepare." He scoffed when Yusuf tapped a loose fist into his shoulder.

"You are ungrateful," Yusuf returned. "I should make a stew of the dirt outside for you."

"That sounds like an improvement." Nicolo yelped when Yusuf with a growl, wrapped arms around him and tackled him to the floor. 

Yusuf cupped the back of Nicolo's head before it struck the floor. They grappled, hands playfully batting at limbs and chins until Yusuf claimed victory when he rolled on top of Nicolo.

"Ha," Yusuf panted as he draped himself across Nicolo. "I won."

"I thought," Nicolo said breathlessly. He gazed up at Yusuf. "You feared I would stab you with one of my bony limbs?"

Yusuf stared at Nicolo. Nicolo breathed against him, his legs folded and trapped under Yusuf's thighs. On the floor, Nicolo needed to arch up into Yusuf to ease his back and it did things, his body moving and shifting against Yusuf.

Yusuf swallowed. "Um...yes..." He swallowed once more. He caught Nicolo staring at his mouth and he felt himself flush all over. He released Nicolo by rolling off, feeling bereft when Nicolo eased out from under him. 

The two lay on the floor next to each other. It reminded Yusuf of their early battles. In front of the walls of Antioch, after a battle that was so long, the sun traveled to the other side. They both collapsed to the bloody sand, almost shoulder to shoulder, gasping the breath of the exhausted not of the dying. 

"Truce," Yusuf murmured, in lingua this time. He turned his head and found Nicolo had turned to face him like he did back then as well. 

"Truce," Nicolo echoed, this time in Arabic. Unlike before, his eyes were not angry and confused. He stared back at Yusuf with a longing and warm look that made Yusuf's breath stuttered.

Then, Nicolo's eyes drifted down. He stilled.

Yusuf squeezed his eyes shut, aware of the heavy heat and the overwhelming tightness in his groin again. Oh no. He sat up and rolled up to his feet. He collapsed onto a chair. He dropped his head into his hands.

"Sorry," Yusuf muttered. "Sor—" 

Yusuf's eyes flew open as fingers gingerly hooked into the ties of his trousers.

Nicolo knelt in front of Yusuf, as close as he could between Yusuf's knees. 

"Let me do this for you," Nicolo said quietly. He stared at the bulge that strained Yusuf's loose trousers.

Yusuf stared down at Nicolo. "Do you understand what you are offering?"

Instead of an answer, Nicolo plucked at the ties. He lifted his chin and gazed at Yusuf.

Yusuf gulped. He cupped the side of Nicolo's head, weaving clumps of Nicolo's brown hair between his fingers.

Nicolo stilled. He kept his eyes on Yusuf, his face expressionless.

Allah help him, but he did want this. But they should not do this. Not now. Yusuf breathed out shakily. Nicolo continued gazing back, unblinking, so still Yusuf was not sure if Nicolo breathed.

With trembling fingers, Yusuf's other hand tugged loose his trousers, parting the fabric.

It was unnerving how Nicolo stared at Yusuf, not looking at his hardening cock as it jutted out of his trousers. He did not look away as he curled a hand around the head and coaxed Yusuf's erection out.

Yusuf's air exploded out in a groan when Nicolo's mouth surrounded him, so quickly, so fast as if he had shoved his swollen length down Nicolo's throat. But that can not be. He fought to keep his hips still and not to thrust.

Nicolo's mouth was wet and hot, a flame surrounding Yusuf's cock and seeped into his bones. He choked out a "Nicolo" and perhaps a prayer when he felt Nicolo's jaw worked, his throat convulsing and—

"Oh," Yusuf moaned. "Oh" as he felt himself sink all the way. It felt like Nicolo gagged, maybe, but then Yusuf felt like he was falling into a well of honeyed heat. He felt Nicolo's nose bump into his groin, face burrowed in the nest of Yusuf's sex. Yusuf was sure he could die a glorious death here at the mercy of Nicolo's mouth.

Then, Nicolo started to move.

Head jerking up and down on Yusuf's cock, lips squeezing as Yusuf's cock slipped over a rough tongue, Nicolo suckled Yusuf's cock with almost bruising efficiency. Yusuf tried to stay still, but oh, his hips jerked up into Nicolo's mouth. Nicolo's movements stuttered, but before Yusuf could apologize, Nicolo's head bobbed over Yusuf's erection in a furious pace.

Yusuf could barely breathe, choking as it felt like Nicolo was squeezing him from the root, building a pressure in his lower back. He glanced down dazed, moaning at the sight of Nicolo's brown head between his legs, his eyes gazing up at Yusuf as his cheeks hollowed.

"Your hands," Yusuf plead when he realized Nicolo kept his hands limp by his sides. "Nicolo, please, Nicolo, your hands."

Nicolo's hands fluttered up, touched Yusuf's knees, jerking back when Yusuf groaned. 

"No, no," Yusuf groaned. He desperately wanted to thrust. His hands curled into Nicolo's hair. He cradled the hair, following the motion of Nicolo's head. "Do not stop. Please. Your hands."

Nicolo hesitantly cupped the back of Yusuf's calves. Yusuf's trousers spilled down to his ankles.

The chair underneath Yusuf creaked in-between Yusuf's gasps. Nicolo's hands skimmed lightly on Yusuf's calves then went bolder, running callused hands up and down Yusuf's legs, nails skimming through the roughness of his leg hair.

"Nicolo. _Hobi_ ," Yusuf groaned. He could feel a well of feeling growing at the base of his spine, bubbling to the pit of his stomach. He was close. His hands were frantic now as they curled around Nicolo's shoulders.

Perhaps Yusuf pulled Nicolo off too quickly or not quick enough. Nicolo's mouth slipped off his cock with a wet sound, his hands curled around the back of Yusuf's knees and it was all too much. He felt this bubbling feeling spinning, heat twisting tighter and tighter.

Yusuf squeezed his eyes shut. His release came violent, splashing them both. It felt like it was ripped from his bones, his blood. He shook, hands grabbing frantically at Nicolo, pulling him up, swaying forward into Nicolo. His release felt endless, until it was suddenly over.

Panting, Yusuf burrowed his face into the crook of Nicolo's shoulder. He felt heated as if he cooked too long under the desert sun.

"You...you did not need me to swallow?" Nicolo asked in a small voice. He sounded confused.

Yusuf could smell they both needed a washing. But his limbs would not obey him. He sensed Nicolo walking closer to him on his knees until his shoulders bumped against Yusuf's heaving chest. Nicolo will ensure Yusuf does not swoon out of the chair.

"Nicolo," Yusuf murmured. He kissed Nicolo's ear. He thought of Nicolo's question.

"The thought of you...not now. It would be wonderful, but your stomach. It might make you sick. No, no. Thank you, my Nicolo. Oh, it was...no, no, next time. Next time as long as you allow me to do the same for you."

"You do not have to—"

Yusuf hugged Nicolo harder to him, tugging Nicolo to stand higher on his knees so he could tuck Nicolo's face to his heart.

"I want to," Yusuf said breathlessly. "Willingly. Gladly. I do, Nicolo. But for you, later. Hm? Later."

Nicolo breathed out harshly, his breath leaving a damp spot on Yusuf's shoulder. Suddenly, Nicolo's arms wrapped around Yusuf's middle. He started to shake.

"Yusuf..." Nicolo choked. "Yusuf..."

Yusuf embraced Nicolo as hard as he could. Something in Nicolo's voice demanded it, something in Yusuf's heart demanded it. Their bodies were damp, reeked of sex and the pot lid behind them rattled as the stew boiled over.

But Yusuf and Nicolo would not move. 

The stew burnt.

Yusuf was not as upset as Nicolo, who often thought wasted food was a sin especially in the face of so many who needs it. He ate rotting apples with one hand and gave the sweetest ones to the children they came across in their travels with the other. It used to both frustrated and charmed Yusuf. It still does.

Nicolo looked at Yusuf as if he was seeing him with new eyes after they pulled apart. Nicolo kept trying to offer to finish off Yusuf. His eyes kept flitting on and off Yusuf’s lax cock and the white splatters on his inner thighs and groin.

Yusuf declined, stammering so much Nicolo complained he could not understand _Yusuf’s_ Arabic. But it seemed to ease the strange tension on Nicolo’s shoulders.

Yusuf fumbled as he cleaned himself, flushing as he tried not to stare at the shape of Nicolo’s shoulder blades as the other shrugged out of his stained tunic and cleaned Yusuf’s release off his pale skin with a few quick swipes. Nicolo did not seem as clumsy when faced with what happened streaked across his chin and throat. Which only made Yusuf feel more clumsy.

Something was changed between them. But the elation Yusuf felt was also mixed with apprehension. Nicolo’s gaze did not stay with Yusuf long. He took time tearing his bread when they sat down for their evening meal, chewing each bite with shadows in his eyes.

“Should we have not done that?” Yusuf said quietly after Nicolo gave up eating the rest of the boiled fish. Nicolo looked frustrated at the food.

“I do not know.” Nicolo pushed the fish around his bowl with a piece of torn bread. “Did I do it wrong?”

Yusuf choked on the morsel in his mouth. “Wrong? No, Nicolo, it was amazing. Nicolo, I...”

“You did not wish me to swallow.”

Yusuf sputtered weakly. If only Nicolo would look at him. No, perhaps it was better he did not.

“I did not lie that I worried it would make you ill,” Yusuf said. His eyes lingered on the food left on Nicolo’s bowl. “I even worry now as you force yourself to eat every bite.”

“So,” Nicolo thought over Yusuf’s words. “It was not a necessary lie?” He took a deep breath. His jaw worked. “I thought men like it when the other swallows.” 

Nicolo immediately shook his head. 

“No, pay no mind to what I said.” Nicolo shook his head again. He looked disgusted with himself.

The self turned look did not sit well with Yusuf. The things men do with women or men were not talked about, not easily, but it felt like Nicolo needed to hear them. And Yusuf was discovering he could not deny Nicolo anything.

“Did you want to swallow?” Yusuf asked carefully. 

Nicolo’s face shuttered, his eyes distant. 

“Nicolo,” Yusuf called out softly. He did not touch Nicolo. 

Nicolo shook his head as if to shake himself awake. 

“No, I mean, I do not know.” Nicolo shrugged helplessly. 

Yusuf smiled, but his stomach churned as he spoke.

“I want to.” 

Startled eyes flew up to Yusuf.

“You do not have to...” Nicolo gestured towards his lap. 

“No, I do not have to,” Yusuf agreed easily. His voice lowered. “But I want to.”

Nicolo stared at Yusuf. He broke away from Yusuf’s gaze.

"I do not know what to think when you look at me like that," Nicolo said quietly.

Yusuf knew he wore all his desires and wants on his expression, unabashedly and clear in his intent. He saw it in the way Nicolo gulped, his throat working. Nicolo was a fine warrior, a swordsman with skill no artist could capture on paper. He fought with no fear.

Yet here, across the table from Yusuf, Nicolo looked uncertain.

“Yes,” Yusuf said bluntly. “There are many things I want to do with you. Many things. The more I look at you, the more my hands wish to touch you, the more my eyes want to memorize you.”

“But,” Yusuf continued in a softer voice, “I do not have to if _you_ do not want to.”

Nicolo frowned to himself. “That does not seem fair to you. If it is what you want, you should not need to deny yourself what you desire even if it is...” He gestured towards himself again.

“I will not lie. I desire you. More every minute I am fortunate to be by your side.” Yusuf savored the way Nicolo’s ears pinked before he continued. He chose his words carefully, not unlike preparing for a battle although he suspected the battle was within Nicolo.

“But if I do not deny myself the pleasures of your body, I deny you _your_ pleasure.”

Yusuf finally reached over and grasped Nicolo’s hand. The fingers were limp, cool, but once they were in Yusuf’s grasp, Nicolo’s hand held tight.

"And then it is no longer pleasurable for me."

“Oh,” Nicolo said. He sounded thoughtful. 

Yusuf pulled Nicolo’s hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles.

“We should stay.” Yusuf sounded loud in the sleepy hours. He spoke to the back of Nicolo’s head. For once, Nicolo fell asleep first, tucked within the curl of Yusuf’s body. 

Nicolo stirred against Yusuf, to adjust within Yusuf’s hold. He pressed back against Yusuf’s chest.

“Hm?” Nicolo sounded drowsy. 

Yusuf shook his head. “I was thinking out loud. Sorry.” He kissed Nicolo’s shoulder blade. One for each because he could not choose a favorite. “Go back to sleep.”

“Tell me,” Nicolo mumbled.

Yusuf gave up coaxing Nicolo back to sleep. Again he was reminded how he can not seem to deny Nicolo anything.

“I was thinking,” Yusuf began.

“Oh no,” Nicolo yawned, “should I start running?”

Yusuf growled. He ran his teeth along the crook of Nicolo’s shoulder. Interestingly, Nicolo shuddered.

“Ah,” Yusuf murmured. “Did you like that?” He did it again, skimming the slope from Nicolo’s ear to the round joint of his shoulder with the edge of his teeth. He did not bite, keeping his touch light enough he barely tasted the salt of Nicolo’s skin.

Nicolo shivered as if cold despite his shirt and the blanket over their bodies.

“I...I think so?” Nicolo gasped when Yusuf’s teeth scraped down his neck again. Harder, sharper like the edge of a dagger. He groaned, shuddering as Yusuf's teeth pressed gently into his shoulder through his shirt. 

"And this?" Yusuf rumbled. 

“And tha—Yusuf, no, no, wait.”

Yusuf stopped at the panic in Nicolo’s voice. He moved the hand he kept over Nicolo’s arm and settled it over Nicolo’s heart. It fluttered fast under Yusuf’s palm.

“I stopped,” Yusuf murmured. “It is fine.”

Nicolo breathed out slowly. He squirmed and his legs moved over the knee Yusuf tucked between Nicolo’s. Nicolo fidgeted as if he wanted to straddle Yusuf’s thigh.

Ah.

“I could,” Yusuf began and his hand wandered lower, but stopped over Nicolo’s navel when Nicolo choked a sound. He hugged Nicolo carefully to him.

"It is fine, Nicolo."

"Is it?" Nicolo said bitterly. "What does it mean that I enjoy it when you hurt me?"

Yusuf tensed. "Did I—"

"No." Nicolo fell silent. He wrapped his arms around his middle. 

"It only felt like it could," Nicolo said at last. He exhaled sharply. "Does that mean I like pain? Does that mean he was right and I will—"

"He?" Yusuf interrupted. Nicolo vibrated in his arms like he was about to spring up to his feet to fend off attackers.

Nicolo stilled.

"Who was right?" Yusuf frowned. "Someone said you like pain?"

"It was something I...heard," Nicolo said. If Yusuf did not hold Nicolo so close, he would not have heard him.

Yusuf thought about the faint white lashes that ran down Nicolo's back. He caught a glimpse once when he and Nicolo found a river large enough they could wash a fair distance apart. The sun had scorched their skins, Nicolo's pale flesh bore the blunt of it. Flushed skin faded with their healing, but Yusuf caught sight of thin spidery lines stark against sun burnt skin. They ran from Nicolo's shoulders and down to the top cleft of his buttocks. Yusuf was speechless, stunned stupid. He nearly did not see the rock Nicolo threw at his face.

"You heard wrong," Yusuf said fiercely. He was suddenly furious and he reined the jolt of rage before he confused Nicolo. He nosed the spot under Nicolo's ear. "And if anything we do hurts, you tell me. I will stop."

"...All right," Nicolo said. He took a deep breath.

"You were thinking?"

"Hm?" Yusuf rubbed his hand over Nicolo's heart. Nicolo's heart thumped slower, serene once more.

"You said you were thinking out loud?" Nicolo reminded him.

Yusuf thought for a moment. "Yes, I was thinking!"

"And I was worried." Nicolo snorted when Yusuf grumbled.

"Are you going to listen or not?" Yusuf demanded.

Nicolo sighed. "If I must."

Yusuf bumped his forehead to the back of Nicolo's head.

"I was thinking we should stay."

"In Cairo?" Nicolo fidgeted against Yusuf. It was very distracting.

Yusuf squashed down the urge to burrow his face into Nicolo's neck. He recaptured his thoughts.

"It will take too long to collect enough funds to go East." Yusuf's hand smoothed over Nicolo's heart. "What do you think about us staying here? Let them come to us instead?"

"Let them come to us," Nicolo repeated. "They will know how to find us?"

Yusuf hummed thoughtfully. "We see them in our dreams, no? We were able to guess where they may be." 

"You think they dream of us?" Nicolo asked hesitantly.

"You and I dreamed of each other after the first time we died. It is like you said, the dreams stop after we find each other. Maybe the dreams that tell us to find them are telling the women to find us?"

"Do you think they see us?" Nicolo's voice was small for some reason. "Do you think they see everything?"

"Enough to see where we are," Yusuf mused. He embraced Nicolo closer.

"What you think? We stay? Aziz's offer for my scrolls was generous. I am certain he will buy more."

Yusuf rubbed his beard against the side of Nicolo's neck.

"Maybe we have a stall?" Yusuf suggested tentatively. "Hm? I think some of the traders wanted to sell. You and I. Here in Cairo. Let them come to us. We can stay a few years before anyone wonders about us. The women, they will know where to find us." 

"Because they saw everything," Nicolo whispered.

Yusuf nodded against Nicolo.

"This will be good," Yusuf murmured. "In two days? After Aziz? We see?"

"Two days," Nicolo repeated.

Under Yusuf's palm, Nicolo's heart started pounding faster.


	10. (Nicolo) - Cairo, 12th century

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: flashbacks of non-con and forced prostitution

Morning came too quickly. One day gone. Two...two more to go.

Nicolo traced Yusuf's words with the pointer stick. It was not as easy to remember the words if he did not copy them like he did with Latin. But ink and paper is costly. Yusuf needs it more.

Yusuf’s hopeful plans roiled in the bottom of his stomach since last night. The thought of setting down their swords and have a quiet life for a few years was something Nicolo did not think was possible for him. But to have it here in Cairo...

_Fingers grabbed his ears and pried open his mouth. He could not breathe. He heard nothing but groans that made his ears burn. His jaw locked. He gagged as it crawled in and would not stop even as he jerked helplessly for breath._

_Do not bite. Look at him, not it. Relax the throat. Swallow. Swallow—_

Yusuf’s foot stretched under the table and tapped Nicolo’s.

The dagger twisting in Nicolo’s chest vanished.

"Nicolo, Nicolo," Yusuf bade from across the table, "Look."

Nicolo raised his eyes off the notes and blinked at a paper covered in smudged black etches of someone reading under a fig tree with—

"What," Nicolo pointed to the black spot with fangs that touched the floor, "is that?"

"You," Yusuf said cheerfully.

Nicolo arched an eyebrow. “I look like that?”

Yusuf’s eyebrows rose. He peered down at the drawing he held up to where Nicolo tapped the black smudge. It was the size of a ripe date.

Yusuf chuckled. "Ah, no, no, that is not you. That is the demon cat." At Nicolo's look, Yusuf nodded meaningfully towards the door.

"Sh, it might hear you."

Nicolo shook his head, but found himself smiling as he glanced down at Yusuf's notes once more. He listened to Yusuf humming under his breath as he went back to his scrolls. 

The words started to look the same by the time he lifted his head. He found himself under Yusuf's study, his eyes thoughtful as they considered Nicolo. Caught, Yusuf did not look away. He continued to look, his smile widening.

It was Nicolo who looked away. Something stirred in his stomach. He was not sure if he was dizzy with ill or something else.

"What?" Nicolo murmured. He studied the corners of the pages of neat Arabic. Perhaps he could bind them together so Yusuf can not lose them. The monastery taught him how to bind books, how to stitch pages together tight. His little fingers had bled, but he did not mind. They let him read the finished book for a few hours before it was taken away.

"I would be happy to do this with you every day," Yusuf murmured. He rose to his feet to fetch the pot.

"I did not think I would find paradise so quickly in my eternal life," Yusuf mused. He tipped the pail of water to fill the pot. 

"I did not realize paradise would be so messy," Nicolo said dryly. "Why do you not believe in a neat bed?"

Yusuf whistled Nicolo's attention over. He flicked damp fingers at Nicolo, chuckling as he set the pot in the hearth. 

"You would be bored," Nicolo scoffed as Yusuf returned to his chair. He squinted at the page he held. The letters wavered and slipped out of order again. He sighed to himself and pointed to the word with his stick.

"It means fortitude," Yusuf explained after pronouncing it slowly. "And no, Nicolo, I would not." He sat back into his chair. "I could not see myself ever be bored with you."

“Drawing pictures of cats and me reading your bad handwriting?” Nicolo retorted. “That is how you wish to spend eternity?”

“If it is with you?” Yusuf replied easily. “Yes.”

Nicolo was not sure how to respond or if he should. He peered up, looking at Yusuf through his lashes.

“You should not say things you will regret.” Nicolo brushed a thumb across a page. Yusuf’s notes crinkled and Nicolo pulled away before he damaged them.

“Never,” Yusuf murmured. “I say what is in my heart. How could I regret that?”

Nicolo squirmed uneasily in his chair.

“I am not like you,” Nicolo mumbled. “I do not have the words to say such things .” He shook his head. “Do not expect poetry in my words.”

“No need,” Yusuf said quietly. “I see poetry in what you do.” He reached across the table and captured Nicolo’s hands.

“I see it in the way you always give me the thicker blanket, the bigger slice of bread, the sweetest fruit. I do not need words.”

Yusuf squeezed Nicolo’s hand before letting go.

“I see it in everything you do.” Yusuf beamed at Nicolo.

“How could I be bored of that?”

Nicolo tentatively smiled.

"Besides," Yusuf chuckled, "Every dream of them showed them in battle. I fear they do not know how to be bored. When we meet, I expect many adventures with them."

Nicolo's smile ached as he kept it on his face. When Yusuf reluctantly turned back to his work, Nicolo lowered his eyes. His stomach twisted as if he could still taste them soiling his insides. But it wasn’t possible. He threw up when Yusuf stepped out to get tea and figs in the market this morning.

The two women fought as one, smiling broadly as they traded blows with numbers greater than them. He knew, deep in his heart, the battles they fought were just.

What would they think of him?

Nicolo blinked once more. Yusuf's words blurred in front of him. He inhaled slowly through his nose.

What did they think when they saw him plunge his blade hilt deep into Yusuf? He had swung wide, the cross hung on his neck glinted, his sword briefly catching bone before slicing through.

What did they think of him among the ranks riding towards Antioch, slaughtering and raging, his humanity stained with the blood of those defending their home?

What did they think of him when he dropped to his knees, mouth accepting object after object, swallowing every drop, picked up the coins tossed to him on the floor, returning soon after to do it all over again?

What will they think of him in two days when he goes to Dirar? What will Yusuf think of him after?

“I do it all willingly,” Nicolo muttered. He jerked when he heard himself. He clamped his mouth shut. Fool.

“Ah Nicolo,” Yusuf sighed. “Even with selling your sword?”

Nicolo’s insides clenched. “I told you, he will not sell it unless I am there.”

“Are you sure?” Yusuf pressed.

Nicolo’s throat soured. He was not sure of anything anymore.

“Who is he? I would feel better if we get your sword back now.”

But the sword was propped by the door. He went through the door. Later, someone lead him out and it was not there. Was it? He can not recall. His throat had hurt. He threw up over the side of the boat because he tasted them lodged in his throat. Someone laughed and poured wine down his throat because they said his breath smelled like a whore. But he still tasted them and Dirar hissed Nicolo would taste and feel him forever after he takes him and forever was so very long...

“Nicolo?”

Nicolo started. Yusuf was suddenly crouched next to his chair, a hand cupped on his cheek, the other on his knee. Behind him, the small pot burbled as the water boiled. Outside, Yazim's cat meowed.

“There you are,” Yusuf murmured. His brow knitted. “You suddenly hunched over as if you were praying but you have not done that since Aleppo.”

The destruction had left Nicolo silent for days. He watched Yusuf pray, facing _Kaaba_ and he could not clasp his hands and pray. Not any more. He stopped, replacing His word with weeping dry eyed by his bedroll every night.

Would it help to pray now? He is certain no one will listen to someone like him.

“Nicolo,” Yusuf soothed. He stroked Nicolo’s face. His fingers slipped into Nicolo’s hair...

_”Money well spent.”_

_Gems flooded into his mouth and burned all the way down to his belly._

_”I will be your first.”_

_Dirar’s object struck so deep, his head slammed back on the cardamom stained floor._

Nicolo’s chair toppled to the floor.

“Nicolo!”

He stumbled, his foot snared on a chair leg as he lurched towards the door. He fell, his arm made a sickening crack...

_...Dirar’s man accidentally pulled too hard when it was his turn. He reared up off the floor, gurgling because it was too much to swallow. It splattered all over his chin as the object pushed past his swollen lips and the mess still pooled under his tongue..._

“Careful. Here. The chamber pot is in front of you...”

It burned. Everything bubbled sour and thick in his belly. Gems, Khalil, the man who broke his tooth shoving in too quick, Dirar, and Dirar...

Nicolo retched, pitching forward into the chamber pot until a hand slipped over his forehead to keep his head up. Not that there was anything to avoid. Spit, gobs of blood and sour bile dribbled out of his mouth. But no, no, they were still there. He wanted it out. All of it. Out. Out. Out!

“Nicolo, Nicolo, stop, there is no more.” Yusuf pushed his head back away from the chamber pot. He splayed a hand over Nicolo’s belly. “Here? It hurts here? Shou—Nicolo, no, there is nothing left!”

He could still taste them in his mouth, writhing and boiling him alive in his stomach, he could not breathe. It was too thick, driving too deep, stop, he needs a moment, no wait, stop, not now, no, no, no...

“Sh...” Yusuf wrapped himself around Nicolo, a hand rubbing circles on his belly.

Nicolo groaned. He curled towards Yusuf and panted against his shoulder. They were on the floor. How were they on the floor?

By their tangled feet, the pot lid jumped in place as water boiled.

“The tea,” Yusuf exhaled. “It is not helping is it? I will return to the stall tomorrow and have his head.”

All that wasted coin.

“It will be fine,” Nicolo mumbled. “I heal.”

“But you also hurt.” Yusuf nosed the top of Nicolo’s head. “And you will not tell me why.”

“It is the food,” Nicolo said against Yusuf’s shoulder. He should get off Yusuf. The pot rattled and bang for attention.

“Was that supposed to be a necessary lie?” Yusuf sounded angry.

Nicolo shook his head.

“Just as easier answer,” Nicolo mumbled. He dropped his head into Yusuf’s shoulder. He could hear Yusuf’s head.

“For me?” Yusuf sounded defeated.

“For me.” Nicolo groaned as he sat up. He stared at the messy table in dismay.

“Nothing was stained,” Yusuf assured. “Just a little ink spilled.”

Nicolo exhaled. He is ruining everything, wasting food, wasting ink, worrying Yusuf. He took a deep breath and twisted around to take the pot off the fire.

“Nicolo wait, it is still ho—“

Nicolo hissed as his hand flared into an agony he have not felt since the fires in Aleppo. It shot up his elbow as if his arm was aflame. He grit his teeth, curled his hand tighter around the handle and pulled the pot away from the hearth.

As soon as Nicolo set the pot down on a safe distance away from the flames, Yusuf was upon him.

“Your hand. Let me see.” Yusuf tugged Nicolo’s hand to him before Nicolo could offer it.

Nicolo grimaced at the white mottled mess. He could not feel his fingers. The handle branded white into the fleshy part of his palm.

Yusuf cradled Nicolo’s hand to his chest.

They watched as the blisters cracked, white dead flesh flushed pink, blood returned and his palm became whole.

“I forgot,” Nicolo said awkwardly. “But I healed.”

“And it also hurt.” Yusuf pressed his lips to Nicolo’s palm. His kiss was brief. Nicolo barely felt it.

“But it does not hurt for long.” Nicolo tugged his hand free.

“The memory hurts longer,” Yusuf sighed. He considered Nicolo with a sad crinkle between his eyes. “Do you not think so?”

Nicolo nodded. He can still taste them. They still soured his insides with filth.

“Nicolo,” Yusuf murmured. It hurt to see the lines around Yusuf’s eyes and mouth.

“Is it later yet? How long are we to pretend this is nothing more than food?”

Nicolo hung his head.

“Does this have to do with the sword? Does this have to do with why you see yourself so low?”

“Please,” Nicolo whispered. It felt like the faded hurt in his hand has seeped into his chest. His chest throbbed hot and cold. He dully wondered if there was dead flesh inside. “Not now.”

“No,” Yusuf sounded angry again. “You can not use that against me every time. Nicolo—“

“After Aziz then.” Nicolo stared at Yusuf. He hoped Yusuf can not hear how his heart raced. “I...I will explain everything then.”

Yusuf sagged. “But not before?”

Not until Dirar was done with him and Yusuf is safe.

“I am sorry,” Nicolo murmured.

Yusuf sighed. “After Aziz. We will go to the Nile, see the birds. You tell me there, yea?”

Nicolo felt a lump in his throat so he simply nodded.

Yusuf pulled Nicolo closer. He wrapped his arms around Nicolo again, one hand slipping over his stomach.

“Here?” Yusuf’s question rumbled by his ear. “It hurts here?”

Nicolo wanted to say no. Higher, the hurt was in his heart. But he only nodded. The pain in his heart will be nothing compared to after Yusuf learns the truth. This pain will be nothing when Yusuf and the women reject him.

They sat in the floor, their feet stretched towards the hearth. The fire was gone but the warmth was there. Yusuf’s hand smoothing over his belly felt warm as well.

“Do you think they will see this?” Nicolo waved feebly at the pot. He kept the other hand on his lap. Yusuf’s hand often brushed over his hand there

Yusuf snorted. “Yes.” He abruptly laughed.

The laugh felt nice against Nicolo’s back. “What?”

“This will be embarrassing,” Yusuf chortled, “When they learn we can not even boil water.”

Nicolo scoffed. He dropped his head back against Yusuf.

Yusuf hugged him tight. He continued laughing.

He did not dream about the women today. He was both relieved and disappointed. They looked happy, even in battle. 

Nicolo opened his eyes. He stared across to his bed again. He almost sat up to search for work in the docks before a sly hand reaches for him or an eye stares too long.

The stack of scrolls on the table, though, made him stop. The half filled pot of ink made him close his eyes and swallow, tasting sour and bitterness that refused to go away. Yes. Of course. 

Another morning. Which means tomorrow...

Too soon, Nicolo thought as he stared at the table. Yesterday was the same as the day before. Yusuf bent over a manuscript, Nicolo reading Yusuf's notes while wishing the day will slow. It didn't. He laid down with Yusuf with a heavy heart. He slept within Yusuf's arms. He drifted listening to Yusuf murmuring what tales he wished to illustrate when morning cones.

And now it was morning again. 

Nicolo felt Yusuf mumble against his neck, burrowing through his hair and sighing when the tip of his nose brushed skin.

Yusuf’s beard tickled, soft when he thought it would be bristly. He remembered how hair scratched him around the mouth as he was yanked to bury his face in a nest of sweaty, wiry hair. He tried to breathe through his nose like Dirar taught him but coarse hair filled his nostrils. He flailed, the man pounding into his mouth did not like that and demanded another.

Nicolo pressed the dagger Yusuf gave him to the man’s spit coated object. He took his small sachet of coins and stumbled off the ship. He used some of the coin to clean and sharpen the dagger he fouled.

The man smelled like rotting meat. Nicolo remember when his ship sailed to war, the rancid meat was all that was left. Nicolo was a former priest and a knight the Church sponsored. No one who would miss him. So no meat for him. He watched others eat it and grow sick and die. The ship smelled like rotting corpses for the ret of the journey.

When the man (Nicolo could not remember what name he gave him) spent down Nicolo’s throat, he reeked of the same rancid meat. It was in his breath, in the fingers that grappled Nicolo’s hair, in the clothes that rubbed against Nicolo’s face.

Nicolo could not stomach any meat for a time. He ate it in front of Yusuf and then vomited by the pathway that led up to their homes. Nicolo said he was getting water from the well. It was, how Yusuf would say, a necessary lie?

Yusuf did not smell like rancid meat. Or fish. Or wet wood. Or cardamom.

Nicolo was not sure what Yusuf smelled like. Yusuf once lamented he missed the soaps and oils of the bathhouses. Nicolo thought water and a good scrubbing from a handful of pebbles or sand was enough.

But Nicolo found an old woman selling soaps on a worn shawl in Damascus. It smelled like almonds and the honey Yusuf insisted Nicolo try in a village that was by the sea. Nicolo liked the honey.

Yusuf beamed as if Nicolo gifted him a sturdy and able horse. And for days, Yusuf smelled like the soap and...something else.

“...cursed cat,” Yusuf mumbled on Nicolo’s skin. He wiggled closer, his arms around Nicolo, a knee tucked between Nicolo’s legs. It felt like Yusuf wanted to bury Nicolo under his skin.

He...he would not mind so much.

Nicolo bit his lower lip. Yusuf’s was hot and thick on his tongue. It pulsed. It felt like he kept Yusuf's heart safe in his mouth. Nicolo tried to swallow around him and let Yusuf sink deeper into his throat. Yusuf was not angry it took Nicolo two tries.

Nicolo did not understand. He did not realize the strain between his legs was his...he reacted. To Yusuf. Who did not mind Nicolo did not swallow.

“...icolo,” Yusuf sighed and he hummed into Nicolo’s nape. He muttered words Nicolo could not grasp, distracted by the persistent hardness pressed against his lower back.

There was a buzzing growing in Nicolo’s ears. It grew louder as the length rocked into his lower back, slipping lower and brushed along the crack of Nicolo’s buttocks.

Yusuf said he would stop if Nicolo asked him to and Yusuf has. All Nicolo needed to do was wake Yusuf. A jostle (perhaps two because Yusuf was slow to rouse) and the strange overwhelming feeling rising from the pit of his stomach and the tight feeling of his skin would end.

Nicolo opened his mouth, hesitated and closed his mouth. He listened to Yusuf breathed. He felt Yusuf’s arms around his middle, his hand spread over Nicolo’s stomach in case Nicolo felt sick. 

Nicolo closed his eyes, gulped and shifted back into the heat rocking between his cheeks.

Yusuf hummed, his arms tighter and arched into Nicolo.

Nicolo’s breath caught.

Yusuf’s beard brushed against Nicolo’s nape, his mouth hovering, blowing warm exhales on Nicolo’s neck. Yusuf huffed, mumbled something and his legs moved. His knee glided up between Nicolo’s legs, brushing, pressing, sliding.

Nicolo waited, throat working as Yusuf rocked against him. The feel of him against Nicolo, the friction between Nicolo’s legs and the sounds against his ear...

Nicolo rolled back his shoulders. He leaned into Yusuf, shuddering as the heat, the firm pressure, slipped deeper, pushing his trouser into his crack. Rough fabric grazed over his taint and he felt an unfamiliar fluttering in his hole, a heat billowing up front. His legs twitched, his breath picked up, he felt hot, he...he...

Behind Nicolo, Yusuf jolted, a curse bursting from his lips. Nicolo started, twisting away or towards, he was not sure. He can not think.

“Nicolo, sorry, sorry, I...” Yusuf stammered as he reared back further. His hands skimmed over Nicolo, jerking back when Nicolo tensed.

“It is fine,” Nicolo muttered. He fidgeted, his trousers now uncomfortable gathered in places that made him flush thinking about it. He sat up with an elbow. He glanced over his shoulder at Yusuf. His eyes slid away.

“I did not stop you,” Nicolo admitted. “It is fine.”

Yusuf sat up against the wall, one leg folded, the other pulled up to his chest. When he noticed Nicolo stared at the bulge in his groin, Yusuf flushed.

“Is it fine?” Yusuf said. He lowered his leg. He tugged a corner of the blanket and pulled it over his lap.

“Or is it good?” Yusuf looked wild with his curls in disarray, his beard flattened on the side he slept. His eyes, however, were kind. Yusuf was kind.

“You like it,” Nicolo said.

Yusuf grimaced. “Ah, Nicolo, you talk like the way you swing your sword.” His eyes flick to the wall where Yusuf’s scimitar hung alone. He shook his head.

“Remember what I told you about pleasure?” Yusuf’s gaze was unwavering.

Nicolo sat up as well.

“I do not know if...” Nicolo inhaled sharply. “I do not know what to think.”

“Do you know what to feel?” Yusuf asked gently. “There are things only your heart knows.”

Nicolo set his jaw. He grimaced as he cast his eyes on Yusuf.

“I...” Nicolo’s shoulders dropped. “I do not know what my heart tells me. Not anymore.“

“Nicolo...Can I touch you?” Yusuf asked tentatively.

Nicolo stared at Yusuf. After a moment, he nodded.

Yusuf exhaled sharply. He looked relieved and surprised. He ran a hand through the curls on his head, over and over. It was not an improvement.

“Lie down on your back,” Yusuf croaked.

Nicolo found it easier to say nothing. He settled on his back. He felt his heart racing as Yusuf crawled closer. He hung over Nicolo's body on his hands and knees. 

Yusuf stared at Nicolo like a text he was trying to decipher. He nodded and eased himself to lie on his side, facing Nicolo.

"Nicolo," Yusuf murmured. He lifted a hand, waiting for some reason but at last he lowered it to cradle Nicolo's face.

Fingers trailed down Nicolo's face. They brushed up the sweep of his cheekbones. Yusuf traced Nicolo's brow and the shape of his mouth.

Yusuf leaned in. Nicolo tensed. Yusuf tried to kiss him on the mouth many times the past days, but Nicolo feared Yusuf would taste the others lingering in his mouth. He had turned his head slightly away, pretending he did not understand the intent in Yusuf's eyes. There would be no escaping here.

A pause. Yusuf hung over Nicolo. His brown eyes, the color of the rich soils by the Nile, studied Nicolo. He leaned in again.

And tapped Nicolo on the nose.

Nicolo stared up. Yusuf grinned.

"Next time," Yusuf said. And winked.

Nicolo felt his chest shudder within. He nodded, not trusting his voice.

Yusuf's gaze softened.

"Nicolo," Yusuf murmured. He tapped Nicolo on his chin. "We have time. Tomorrow, after Aziz, we will have all the time to know each other again."

Nicolo reached up and stroked Yusuf's bearded chin with two fingers. He felt Yusuf's breath catch as his fingers traced Yusuf's jugular.

"Do you feel it beating out your name?" Yusuf spread his palm over Nicolo's heart.

"Do you feel mine beating out yours?" Nicolo's fingers traced the line down to Yusuf's neckline, slipping in to follow the span of his collarbone. It was strong under warm skin. There was a sense of undeserved privilege touching Yusuf like this. 

Yusuf copied Nicolo, a look of wonder on his face Nicolo knew mirrored his own. 

"I feel like I want to shower you with poetry," Yusuf breathed as his hand smoothed over Nicolo's chest, over and over Nicolo's shirt. "But I can not think of any words. How strange. What magic have you cast on me?"

Nicolo shivered as the fabric brushed over his nipples, offering a hint of Yusuf's hand.

"Good?" Yusuf murmured. "Nicolo, can I see you? Truly see you?"

Nicolo raised his arms. He exhaled unsteadily as he felt Yusuf pulled the tunic over his head.

The nights on Cairo were cold yet Nicolo felt overheated lying on the bed under Yusuf's intense gaze.

"Hello, Nicolo," Yusuf whispered. He dropped his hand on the center of Nicolo's chest.

Nicolo breathed and felt Yusuf's hand rise and fall with him. He uttered a sound, startled, when Yusuf traced his left nipple. It was like Yusuf was drawing on his skin, his long fingers, dusky and strong holding a fragile pen and teaching ink to dance on paper.

Yusuf's finger stilled over the nub and pressed over it.

Nicolo's hand flew up to grasp Yusuf's wrist.

"Should I stop?" Yusuf asked. He stilled his hand, His other hand went up and stroked Nicolo's face. "I can stop. You need only but ask."

"Can...can I see you?" Nicolo croaked. "Truly?"

Yusuf's eyes widened. He nodded but did not move.

Yusuf chuckled throaty and fond.

"You would need to let go of my hand first, _hobi._ "

Nicolo grimaced but let go. He watched Yusuf stretch, his torso reaching, his arms raised as his sleep shirt slipped over his head.

Yusuf's torso was of smooth tan skin. Dark short hairs covered his chest and a thin trail went into his trousers. 

"I look like I am fading next to you," Nicolo murmured as he tentatively splayed a hand on Yusuf's stomach. He felt Yusuf's stomach sink as he sucked in a breath.

"Do not fade," Yusuf rasped. He covered Nicolo's hand with his own on his stomach. "Stay here. With me."

Nicolo nodded as he stared at their hands. 

Yusuf explored Nicolo's body with careful sweeps of his hands. He leaned in close to let Nicolo do the same, copying touch for touch. Yusuf groaned and Nicolo followed. Nicolo dropped a shaky kiss on Yusuf's navel. Yusuf laved Nicolo's until he writhed.

It was different. It was nothing the others wanted or demanded of Nicolo. They thrilled in watching Nicolo helplessly tried to take them into his mouth.

But Yusuf did not seem to desire the same. Where their hands grabbed and pulled, Yusuf's cradled and skimmed. Yusuf drew symbols on his heaving stomach. He traced Nicolo's ribs with a nimble wet tongue. And when Nicolo bucked, his mind spinning with the frightening sensation that coursed through his entire body, Yusuf held him close, murmuring quiet words while Nicolo shook into his release. He let Nicolo take him into his mouth again, to help ease the strain that weighed between Yusuf's legs.

Yusuf would not let him swallow once again. But he hugged and thanked Nicolo as if Nicolo did.

Nicolo did not understand. As he sat on the bed, cleaning up the stains between his legs and down his thighs, he tried to think. He tried to figure out how Yusuf was different and how did Yusuf's touch drew out such a well of feeling in Nicolo.

"That is not a happy look."

Nicolo glanced up. His throat worked. Yusuf opted to wash up outside but he did not put his tunic back on. He found himself studying the way Yusuf's chest sculpted, a hint of muscles the rippled across his chest and down the front of his stomach. Nicolo's eyes lingered on the loose waist line and the thin line of hair that disappeared into it.

The bed creaked when Yusuf sat down next to Nicolo. He pulled up Nicolo's hands and kissed each knuckle.

"How are you?" Yusuf murmured. He slipped a hand around Yusuf's nape. "How do you feel?"

Nicolo smiled weakly.

"That does not fill me with joy." Yusuf's hands caught Nicolo's face between them.

"Tell me."

"I...it was good," Nicolo said at last. "I think."

Yusuf nodded, inviting Nicolo to continue.

Nicolo sighed. He closed his eyes.

"But part of me is confused. It did not..." It did not hurt. It did not coat his insides with misery and shame and...

"Tomorrow," Yusuf murmured. "After Aziz, we will go by the Nile. And you will tell me. Everything." Yusuf held onto Nicolo's hands. "Tell me what has made you so unhappy, so confused. Please. My mind conjures up so many things of what it could be. I need to hear it from you."

Nicolo nodded miserably.

"Tomorrow," Nicolo mumbled. "It will be over tomorrow." He would hold these days in his heart to keep him warm during his eternity.

Nicolo’s jaw clenched as he stood in front of Dirar in the cabin. Badlh circled him like a carrion bird spying a corpse. 

“He clean too,” Badlh declared. 

A finger permanently stained yellow from turmeric ran down the back of Nicolo’s neck.

“The Frank took a bath,” someone commented from the shadows in the back. 

Dirar did not laugh with the others. He stayed seated in his chair, knees spread, one hand stroking the growing bulge between his legs. The other held his sword like a scepter. 

“You look better,” Dirar commented mildly. “People in the market commented how Yusuf searched every morning for remedies for his dear Nicolo’s stomach.”

“Wanted to keep his strength up,” someone off Nicolo’s ear sneered.

“We should thank his friend later for thinking of _dear_ Nicolo’s well-being,” another jeered.

Nicolo pressed his lips together. He refused to react to the snickering surrounding him.

Badlh’s finger suddenly pressed into Nicolo’s taint over his trousers. 

Nicolo jumped. He whirred around, dagger in hand.

Someone kicked the back of his knees. 

Nicolo fell, catching himself with his hands. He heard a slow _snap_. He prayed no one else did.

“Badlh,” Dirar sounded bored. “You will have your chance later.”

Cold raced down Nicolo’s back. He tucked his broken left hand to his stomach. Bones grind as they healed.

Nicolo glared at Dirar. “You said—“

“I said I would be your first,” Dirar cut Nicolo off harshly. “They won’t be.”

The chair under Dirar creaked as he sat forward on two legs.

“What captain would I be if I were to deny my loyal dock workers a chance to fuck a Frank? It has been a lonely life for many of them having fled the lands Christians stole. “

Nicolo’s chest seized. His insides knotted. He could not speak. He was from wars far past, before many of these men were born. 

But he could not deny the crimes he inherited. 

“I am expected. If I am not there, he...he will come looking.” 

“Do not worry, we will be quick,” a rough voice quipped.

Nicolo stared past Dirar’s ear as they laughed.

Dirar reached over with Nicolo’s own sword. He stroked Nicolo’s jaw with the end of the hilt.

“What makes you think,” Dirar murmured as he tapped the hilt on Nicolo’s lower lip. “He will come looking after we are finished with you?” He chuckled when he caught Nicolo’s flinch.

“Or perhaps you will not want to leave after I am done teaching you, hm? Perhaps you will desire what men like you desire: pain equals to pleasure for you, satisfied by a pretty coin in your pocket.”

Nicolo’s mouth set. “That is not me.”

A hand wrapped around Nicolo’s hair and yanked his head back hard enough to rip a gasp from Nicolo. He reached back and his hands were slapped away. As soon as they fell to the floor, Dirar stepped on both of Nicolo’s hands, pinning them to the floor.

His hands trapped, Nicolo could not kneel without pulling and reveal his healing. He leaned forward on his knees and into his throbbing hands. He grit his teeth as they snickered around him. 

Badlh’s hand smoothed over Nicolo’s clothed buttock cheek. Abruptly, the hand slapped. Taken off guard, Nicolo yelped. 

“He looks ready,” Badlh chuckled, patting Nicolo’s ass.

Nicolo growled as hands tugged him fully on his hands and knees. His heart pounded. It thumped so loud, he did not hear what Dirar said next, unprepared when he felt hands on him, tugging his trousers. He shook, his eyes glowering at Dirar, focusing on Dirar and his smug smile and not at the sensation of bodies standing around him exposed and on his hands and knees.

“Not you?” Dirar rattled the sword by Nicolo’s nose. “Is this more of what you are? How many have you killed with this? How much _coin_ did you take from their corpses?” 

Nicolo felt a hand slide over his buttocks. He hissed as a grimy finger pushed into his hole, pressing in despite his body’s resistance. It burned. He tried to rock forward on his hands but they grabbed his hips and held him there. 

“Still tight.” The finger stabbed deeper, twisting then stopped. Nicolo bit his lower lip as the finger yanked out without warning.

“Want us to loosen him up?” 

Nicolo did not understand what the voice meant. He kicked back, over balancing but he was rewarded with the wet squelching snap of a broken nose and a gurgling howl. 

Fingers clawed into flesh. Fists slammed into ribs. Nails dug deep, spreading him open.

Nicolo’s rage iced into fear. His knees torn as they dragged him across the floor. He was roughly positioned, his legs kicked open wider, his trousers tore down the middle. A hand clamped on his nape, pushing his head down and arched his lower back up. He shouted, tugging at his hands still caught under Dirar’s boots. 

“No!” Dirar snapped.

Hands vanished. Nicolo struggled to stay on his hands and knees, shaking as he felt everyone back away. He gulped, his chest heaving, the hem of his tunic fluttered against his exposed groin and ass. 

The blunt end of the hilt knocked under Nicolo’s chin, forcing his head back up. 

Dark, furious eyes stared hard at Nicolo. Dirar crouched, putting all his weight on Nicolo’s hands.

“No one touches him,” Dirar said. He nudged Nicolo’s chin higher with the hilt.

Harsh breathing filled Nicolo’s ears: his and Dirar’s. He gulped air thick with cardamom and overripe fruit. He stared at his own reflection in Dirar’s eyes.

“He is mine to teach,” Dirar murmured. “Mine first. You may teach him whatever you wish afterwards.”

Dirar smiled darkly. The hilt stroke Nicolo’s throat and slipped into the neckline of Nicolo’s tunic. It pressed under the lump under his throat, harder and deeper.

Air vanished. The cabin blurred. Unbidden, Nicolo gasped, choking as the hilt of his sword dug into the tender flesh of his throat.

Abruptly, it vanished. Nicolo’s head was kept up by the hilt under his chin.

Dirar tsked. “I heard your swallowing skills improved. Not by much, I see. We will deal with that later.”

Nicolo glared.

“I know he is tight,” Dirar said low, his smile lazy and knowing. “That is all right. My cock and his blood will loosen him up well enough for everyone.”

Nicolo’s breath stuttered.

Dirar tapped the hilt at the center of Nicolo’s chest.

“Are you ready for your first lesson?”


	11. (Yusuf) - Cairo, 12th century

_“Hobi?”_

_Yusuf’s eyes slowly open. On reflex, his arms squeezed what they held._

_Within his arms, Nicolo grunted._

_“Sorry.” Yusuf dropped a kiss on Nicolo’s shoulder. He loosened his hold. To his regret, Nicolo slipped free of his arms and rolled onto his back._

_Yusuf stretched, muscles pulling loose, his fingers and toes reaching until he was rewarded with the satisfying pop pop relief down his back. He dropped his chin on top of Nicolo’s chest._

_Eyes the color of a winter sky gazed down at him._

_“Good morning.” Yusuf yawned. He reached up and pushed away hair from Nicolo’s face. He smiled drowsily. “Did you sleep well?”_

_Nicolo nodded._

_“Hobi?” Nicolo repeated, slaughtering the pronunciation of such a beautiful word. Still, it looked lovely out of Nicolo’s pink mouth._

_“Hm?” Yusuf wished it was not cold every night. Waking up pressed against the warmth of Nicolo’s skin was nice. Nicolo grumbled the hair on Yusuf’s chest itched his shoulders. But when Nicolo fidgeted to get closer, Yusuf was happy to press his front along Nicolo’s back. He hoped there will be many more mornings he would wake up against the heated silk of Nicolo's back tucked against him._

_Nicolo’s brow knitted. Yusuf tsked, reaching over to smooth the furrow between Nicolo’s eyes._

_“Should not look so worried this early in the day,” Yusuf murmured. His finger trailed from the brow to the strong line of Nicolo’s nose._

_“Hobi?” Nicolo repeated._

_“Yes, Nicolo?” Yusuf replied dreamily._

_Nicolo’s eyebrow rose._

_The last of Yusuf’s sleep lifted. Cursing his slow waking brain, all he could do was gape at Nicolo._

_"Um..."_

_Nicolo looked thoughtful._

_“I do not know this word.” Nicolo turned shy. “I remember you said it again yesterday.”_

_Did he? Yusuf searched his memory. He swallowed._

_“What does it mean?”_

_“It means...ah...”_

_It was too soon for such endearments. Nicolo was a puzzle Yusuf needed to solve first, unravel the shadows that would not leave his Nicolo alone before casting such fond words and declarations upon him._

_“...disgruntled cat.”_

_“Disgruntled cat?” Nicolo repeated. He frowned. “I think that is very specific of a word. Why did you call me a disgruntled cat?”_

_“Because...ah, like that cat, you strike, uh, because...” Yusuf rubbed his chin on Nicolo as he struggled to find a good reason._

_Under Yusuf, Nicolo twitched._

_Interesting._

_Yusuf rested his face and tilted up to gaze at a pink-cheeked Nicolo._

_“Like that?” Yusuf crooned. Very careful, his eyes locked on Nicolo, he slowly rubbed his chin against the dark circle of Nicolo’s left nipple._

_Nicolo scowled and opened his mouth most likely to deny, but it became a startled moan instead when Yusuf rocked a side of his beard completely over the nub he could feel tightening under his cheek._

_“I have you,” Yusuf soothed. Nicolo’s eyes were wider now, his breath quickening. Ah, his Nicolo. There was so much he wanted to teach Nicolo. And so much he wanted to learn from Nicolo. His stomach clenched in anticipation. After Aziz’s hopefully generous payment and his talk with Nicolo by the Nile, he will be teacher and pupil to Nicolo._

_Yusuf kissed the dark pink nub, making sure his beard brushed Nicolo‘s skin as he moved to taste the other._

_Nicolo’s hand by Yusuf’s shoulder twitched, curling loose and tentative on his bicep._

_Yusuf wanted to capture the pinched teat with his teeth. But Nicolo was not ready for that. Not yet._

_Yusuf nosed the hollow of Nicolo’s throat. He licked into the vulnerable skin, felt it flutter against his mouth. He kissed down the sternum and went back to Nicolo’s nipples._

_Nicolo’s skin was flushed from his beard. Sadly, it was already fading back to the pale pallor. Yusuf hummed as he mouthed the teat, over and over until it peaked into a sharp aching point, the dusky circle surrounding it stretched with the strain._

_Nicolo groaned, his hand moving up to cup the back of Yusuf’s head. They clutched loosely on his hair._

_Immediately, Nicolo's hand pulled back._

_“Sorry,” Nicolo gasped, arching towards Yusuf’s mouth. “I did not mean to—“_

_Yusuf caught Nicolo‘s hand as it pulled away and guided it back to his head._

_Nicolo’s fingers trembled like a seedling caught in a strong wind._

_Yusuf tipped his eyes up at Nicolo. He looked frightened._

_“It is fine,” Yusuf soothed. He bumped back into Nicolo’s hand. He smiled at those wide pale eyes._

_“My hair is already a mess,” Yusuf murmured. "Your hands can not make it any worse."_

_Yusuf wondered what thoughts spun behind those light eyes, what made those long blunt fingers shake._

_"Mm," Yusuf sighed. He leaned into Nicolo's hand. His hands cradled on either side of Nicolo's rib cage. "Yes, Nicolo, right there."_

_Nicolo's fingers bent, pressing down into Yusuf's scalp. They moved, gentle, far too careful, into Yusuf's curls._

_"I am good," Yusuf encouraged. He felt Nicolo give Yusuf's scalp a scratch, barely felt._

_Nicolo's hand jerked back again._

_"I do not want to hurt you," Nicolo rasped._

_Yusuf shushed Nicolo. It was not the time to push. Soon he will need to see Aziz. There was not enough time for he to coax Nicolo out of the shadows so Yusuf could kiss his hurts away. Later. And forever._

_"Before. In war? Yes. Here? No. You can not hurt me," Yusuf sighed. His hands smoothed down to Nicolo's waist. He ran his thumbs along the far too loose trousers. He watched Nicolo carefully as he pulled the trousers down. Nicolo's cock rose shyly between his legs._

_Yusuf tenderly kissed the side of Nicolo's cock._

_Nicolo shuddered._

_Yusuf brushed his lips down to the tip, his beard skimming the length._

_"Yusuf. You should not..." Nicolo croaked. His mouth fell open, his hands curled into trembling fist._

_"No, no, not your mouth, Yusuf no, p-please, not your mouth. I can not..."_

_A bead of fluid formed at the tip, but Yusuf started to worry how Nicolo shook. He murmured quietly as he crawled up and pulled Nicolo to his chest._

_"I stopped," Yusuf said. "Do not worry. I stopped, hobi. Sh."_

_Nicolo dropped his head against Yusuf's shoulder. "I can not hurt you, do not let me hurt you, I should not want that..."_

_"It is all right. Here, we will do something else."_

_Yusuf curled a loose hand around Nicolo. He peppered Nicolo's brow with kisses as the other choked, trembled, fighting not to release._

_"What terrifies you so?" Yusuf murmured but it did not seem to reach Nicolo. Yusuf wrapped an arm around Nicolo. "Why do you fear accepting the pleasure I know you feel?"_

_Nicolo's breathing was shallow. His hands were white fists pressed to his belly. As Yusuf stroked Nicolo's cock to fullness, Nicolo whined from deep in his throat._

_Yusuf's hand sped up. Nicolo started, his stifled moans escaping between his clenched teeth._

_"It felt good when we touched each other, yes?" Yusuf whispered. He tightened his fist, Nicolo's cock was hard and hot in his grip. Nicolo's hips rocked forward into Yusuf's grip._

_"Let yourself feel. Trust what your body tells you, Nicolo," Yusuf said as he felt the weight and heat of Nicolo's cock swell in his hand. "You are so beautiful like this. Here, you are almost there, sh, that is it, it is fine, you are not hurting my hand..."_

_With a choked cry, Nicolo came over Yusuf's fist. He shuddered violently, splashes of his release seeping between Yusuf's fingers._

_Yusuf pressed his lips on Nicolo's brow. Nicolo looked dazed. He gasped as he curled into Yusuf._

_"Yusuf," Nicolo murmured over and over. He blinked rapidly, his lashes beat light torture on Yusuf's skin._

_"This," Yusuf said into the top of Nicolo's head. "This is nothing to fear. It is beautiful. It is us, hobi. Do not give up on it. Whatever it is, stand your ground. My brave and beautiful Nicolo. Let me be besides you forever to fight for this."_

_Nicolo wrapped his arms around Yusuf's middle._

_"I am certain the battle is already lost," Nicolo said sadly into Yusuf's shoulder._

_Yusuf hugged Nicolo closer. "Only if you do not allow me to fight with you. We are no longer enemies. Do not deny we are no longer mere friends. Whatever it is, it is all right. Do not suffer alone. Please, I beg of you, let me share in your sorrow so we can later share joy."_

_Yusuf feared Nicolo would shake his head. He didn't. He tightened his hold around Yusuf._

_"Will your resolve be the same after I tell you?" Nicolo whispered. "Later. After Aziz?"_

_"Yes," Yusuf vowed._

_Nicolo exhaled and stayed tucked within Yusuf's arms until it was time for Yusuf to leave._

"...Al-Kaysani?"

Yusuf blinked. He turned back to Aziz. He grinned ruefully.

"Apologies. I was daydreaming." Yusuf chuckled as he gestured to the market around them. "I was already thinking of what I wish to purchase with your generous payment. In fact, I admired this bolt of linen in front of me and thought how nice it would look on my friend!"

"Yes," the wizened trader nodded. "I am sure Nicolo will like it."

Yusuf grinned. He wondered if Yazim will agree to another barter. 

"About this scroll," Aziz mumbled. "Do you think you can make me one more? Today? I need it this very day."

Yusuf's smile faded. He glanced out at the bright morning. It promised the rest of the day will be good.

"Not today," Yusuf hedged. "I have business elsewhere. In fact, I should be leaving soon."

Aziz's wrinkled hand shook as it held up a small bag of coins. "Oh wait, I should pay you for these."

Yusuf accepted the coins with a glad heart. He grinned at the small purse of thick metal coins.

"I thank you once again for your generosity." Yusuf tossed up the bag. When it landed in his palm, it wafted of cardamom and fruit.

Yusuf's smile faded.

"It would be most appreciated if you could make one more scroll," Aziz continued. He fumbled within his robes. "Here. In fact, I can pay you right no—"

Aziz squeaked when Yusuf's scimitar pressed under his chin. The coins in his pocket scattered to the ground.

"What is this?" Yusuf hissed. He held up the bag of coins. "This reeks of Dirar. What have you done?"

"Al-K-kaysani, I do not know w-what you—"

 _"What have you done!"_ Yusuf roared. 

Behind him, people paused. They scurried away when Yusuf snarled over his shoulder.

Yusuf leaned into his scimitar, the edge digging in Aziz's soft chin.

"Do you know how it feels to have your head slowly sawed off?" Yusuf said, low. He stared hard at Aziz.

"No, no, please, I have no choice!" Aziz babbled. His wrinkled eyes were wide as coins, his wrinkled lips white with fright. 

"Dirar! He controls the docks! My ship! If his people do not push my boat out of the channels, I can not leave the Nile! Please! They are loyal to him. They followed him from Damascus!"

"Tell me!" Yusuf demanded. "What foul deed he has you do? Why are you paying me with his money?" He tensed.

"Nothing! Dirar, he is generous!"

"I never told you Nicolo's name," Yusuf said. His scimitar pressed in more. "What does Dirar want with him?"

"I d-don't know. Al-Kaysani, please have mercy on an old man!"

Yusuf drew closer, his nose almost touching Aziz's dribbling one.

"If you wish to live to be older," Yusuf growled, "you tell me. Now."

"He means to have your friend! He paid me to make sure you remain here!"

Yusuf's insides seized. Dimly, he wondered if this was what Nicolo felt all these days.

"Have him," Yusuf repeated thinly. "What do you mean _have him_?"

Aziz yelped as a line of blood trailed down his throat. His eyes bulged.

"Please! I never—Dirar would have paid him well. He always has!" 

The world around Yusuf seemed to still. All color and light fled.

"What?" Yusuf whispered. The scimitar under Aziz's chin shook.

"I do not, but others enjoyed his mouth and Dirar made sure they pay well!"

Yusuf wanted him to stop talking. He felt numb but agony grew in his insides as Aziz kept talking, fear spurring the flood of words. He spilled out how they have Nicolo on his knees. How Nicolo fought one, then another and then he did not fight at all. And Dirar, Dirar meant to have him, Dirar who first pushed Nicolo to his knees, plundered Nicolo's mouth, Nicolo's soul—

"...Dirar promised they would release him once they were done with—"

Aziz dropped to the ground, his age spotted hands in front of his face. He bled from a small cut on his neck.

"Mercy! Mercy!" Aziz whimpered.

" _They?_ " Yusuf pointed his scimitar at Aziz. 

The trader stared down at the scimitar off his nose.

"Dirar promised to share him with those loyal to him, but he is to be first," Aziz choked.

"Which one is Dirar's ship in the docks?" Yusuf hissed.

Aziz shook his head. 

"You do not understand. The docks, the ship, it is all his men. He has dozens!"

"I do not care if he has hundreds or thousands," Yusuf said coldly. "They are all dead and if you do not tell me, you will share their fate."

Aziz gaped up at Yusuf. Gulping, Aziz told him.

No sooner than Aziz finished, Yusuf spun around and ran out of the stall. He left Aziz weeping and blubbering on the floor in his stall.

People made way when they saw Yusuf's face. He paid no mind. He did not take the time to wipe Aziz's blood off his blade. He slipped his scimitar into its sheath and he cut through the market.

"Nicolo," Yusuf choked out and ran towards the docks as if his soul was at stake.


	12. (Nicolo) - Cairo, 12th century

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: attempted and threats of non-con

It burned.

Nicolo could feel his rib slipping out from where it stabbed his insides after a vicious kick from one snapped it free from his right side. As they forced him back on his knees, Nicolo felt his rib make the slow journey back to heal. It burned getting there.

But it meant two less. They were carried out of the cabin, swearing and groaning.

Behind Nicolo, a hand smacked him hard on his ass, another squeezed the reddened cheek afterwards. Even Dirar had trouble stopping them with a sharp word. 

They did not think their prey will fight back. And now they howled for blood.

Nicolo found himself staring at the floor again, his hands once more trapped under boots. This time it was Badlh. 

His hands started healing after he slammed his head into Dirar's face. He missed but it startled Dirar enough that Nicolo was able to yank his shattered hands free. He got one. Two. But there were so many. More than before. And he was forced to his hands and knees once more, spitting out broken teeth and a bit of flesh when one of them thought destroying his throat might tame him. 

Dirar sat behind Nicolo, grunting as he palmed the object between his legs. It deflated when Nicolo attacked. Dirar pulled it faster and faster the longer he stared at Nicolo's reddened cheeks.

The tip of Nicolo's scabbard tapped his balls from behind. Nicolo jolted. He shouted in lingua and a fist slammed into his right ear. He would have collapsed and possibly snap his wrists completely if Badlh did not catch his shoulders. Nicolo did not thank him.

"I will make you _bleed_ ," Dirar snarled. "The way my wife and child bled." 

Behind Nicolo, wet sounds and grunts rose. The others will wait their turns, but not for too long. Rage fueled their lust to something of a frenzy. Nicolo could taste the thirst around him like air thick with blood and smoke.

It will hurt.

Nicolo's throat worked. Perhaps he could drive them into a fury and one of them or Dirar will accidentally kill him in the process, sparing him from the others. They would discard his body, most likely in the Nile.

He will heal. He will come back.

Nicolo knew by then, Yusuf would find out the truth. And he would leave Cairo. He will not look for Nicolo.

But that is all right. He can still protect Yusuf from afar. Yusuf would not need to know. Nicolo learned from very young how to be quiet, how to be invisible.

Perhaps this is better, Nicolo thought bleakly as he fought not to react to Dirar pressing the scabbard tip against his sacs. He did not speak. He held still. With luck, Dirar would tire of him and kill him before doing anything at all.

"By now," Dirar said. "Yusuf is happily counting his coins and good fortune." The scabbard skimmed around Nicolo's taint. Nicolo held his breath, but Dirar did not push it in.

"When we are finished with you, you can count your coins too."

Around Nicolo, others chuckled.

Nicolo breathed out slowly through his nose.

It will only hurt for a short time, Nicolo thought. He closed his eyes so he could block the sight of Badlh leering close, his yellow stained hands gripping the red mottled object and pointing it to his face.

It will be fine, Nicolo told himself. Anger them and they will kill him. And he will stay behind to watch over Yusuf. He has his memories, those quiet nights where Yusuf gazed at Nicolo like something good and worthy. It is enough.

It will be fine.

Dirar groaned behind him and the wet slapping sounds stop. The others murmured eagerly, crowding forward as Dirar lumbered closer to stand over Nicolo.

The door opened. Nicolo bit the inside of his cheek. No, not more.

"...will flay you alive! I will—"

_No._

Nicolo's eyes flew open. Badlh's crotch blocked him, but he knew that voice.

Dirar chuckled. "Do not be rude. Let him in. He seems he wants to so badly."

No, no, no.

"Dirar!" Yusuf howled. "I will kil— _Nicolo_!"

The anguish in Yusuf's voice was too much to hear. Nicolo squeezed his eyes shut. 

No, he can not. Not in front of Yusuf.

Badlh grabbed Nicolo by the chin. His rough trousers scratched Nicolo's temples. The dagger that hung off his hip bumped into Nicolo's lip. It tasted like cold, metal sweet like blood.

"No! Get away from him!" 

Nicolo has not heard Yusuf like this since—no, he has not ever heard Yusuf like this.

"Dirar! We were not a threat to you!" Yusuf raged. "Why do you do this?"

"Why?" Dirar said calmly. His boots thud past Nicolo. Nicolo cracked open his eyes. Badlh's object hung by his right cheek, but past Badlh's hip he could see Dirar approach Yusuf. Yusuf was covered in blood, his face a red mask over his right side. He was forced to his knees by two men on his shoulders and a knee on his back by a third.

"Why?" Dirar repeated. His voice rose. "Why? Why do I want to destroy the Frank who destroyed me?"

Dirar slammed the hilt of Nicolo's sword into Yusuf's stomach. Yusuf groaned but the hands clamped on his shoulders would not allow him to double over.

"Nicolo was not..." Yusuf bit out. His eyes flared. He set a foot in front of him to force himself up.

A dagger slipped around to rest under Yusuf's chin.

Yusuf tensed and Nicolo knew Yusuf will not let it stop him even if the edge sliced into his throat.

"No," Nicolo croaked. "Do not die."

Yusuf's hard eyes slid over to where Badlh and Nicolo were. His fury wavered. 

"Nicolo," Yusuf said, his voice cracked.

"No," Dirar taunted. He turned to look at Nicolo. "He is right. Do not die. You do not want to miss this. Give Nicolo a chance to show you how he has been earning his coin."

Yusuf choked out, "Nicolo" and hung his head.

Dirar rammed the hilt up, snapping Yusuf's head back.

"No," Dirar snarled. "You will watch him as we invade this Frank, pillage his body, ransack his flesh and soul until all that is left is only fit for fucking."

Yusuf screamed at Dirar, in words Nicolo could not grasp. His ears roared with Yusuf's anger. Dirar scoffed as he crossed the room to stand behind Nicolo.

Badhl stepped harder into Nicolo's hands. Dirar gripped Nicolo by the hips. He yanked Nicolo closer.

Nicolo squeezed his eyes shut as he felt the engorged object scrape up against his taint. A finger skimmed his hole, then abruptly dove in, skewering him, hooking at the rim, pulling...

"I wonder why you did not have him, Yusuf," Dirar murmured. He pulled out his bloodstained finger. "He will tear beautifully."

Nicolo bit his lower lip. He tried not to listen. He held still. 

It did not matter if they kill him now. It was over. 

"Nicolo," Yusuf plead. "Look at me. Please! _Nicolo_!"

Nicolo reluctantly lifted his eyes. 

Yusuf gazed back, his eyes overly bright, straining as close as he dared with the dagger to his throat.

"Nicolo," Yusuf said, half-sobbed. He switched to lingua and Greek. "What I said before...It did not mean disgruntled cat!"

Nicolo stared at Yusuf. He bowed his head.

"Wait," Nicolo called out. His voice shook. "I...I wish to bargain."

Dirar sat back. He placed a hand on Nicolo's buttocks, his hand kneading a cheek, his nails digging deep and drawing more blood.

"A deal?" Dirar sounded bored. "I will have you whether you resist or not. What do you think you can offer me?"

"Please," Nicolo whispered. "I do not want him to see this. I am the one you wish to destroy, not him. Can I not beg for mercy on his behalf?"

Yusuf moaned. Nicolo avoided looking at Yusuf.

"Go on." Dirar dug his thumb around Nicolo's rim. Something burned. Something started to bleed again. "I am listening."

"You..." Nicolo swallowed. His stomach roiled. "You said I need to learn to s-swallow better. Take him away from this and you can teach me."

"Nicolo..." Yusuf whispered in horror.

"I planned to teach you after this anyway," Dirar dismissed.

"What...what if at the same time?"

Dirar stilled behind him. The murmuring around them rose.

Yusuf...Yusuf was not saying anything.

"Badlh," Dirar ordered. 

Badlh shuffled closer, his fingers already loosening his trousers before Dirar called on him. His trousers dropped to his ankles, his dagger clanging to the floor.

Nicolo flinched.

"Yusuf," Nicolo called out as Dirar settled a possessive palm on his lower back, prodding him into position. Badlh shifted off Nicolo's hands, kneeling, greedy hands tipping Nicolo's head back.

"Nicolo, Nicolo," Yusuf breathed. He grunted as he was hauled up to his feet. "No! No! Nicolo!"

"Yusuf, I understand," Nicolo said unsteadily. He opened his eyes as wide as he could. He ignored the unwelcomed heat looming over him. "I understand, but the battle I fought alone is lost."

"I am sorry."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Formatting as fast as I can to post the next 2 parts later on today, because I realized this last chapter is probably the worst way to end 2020! LOL.
> 
> More soon. Working on it!


	13. (Yusuf) - Cairo, 12th century

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: contains violence and yuck

The look on Nicolo’s face...

Yusuf felt the dagger ease off his throat. The grip on his shoulders tightened, keeping him hunched awkwardly.

They were surrounded, some of the nine that crewed the ship crowded around his Nicolo with hungry eyes. Four were dead outside. He could not fight the other three as they took his scimitar and dragged him into the cabin.

I am sorry, Nicolo’s eyes pled when he looked up at last. Yusuf now realized, those eyes had pled for so long. And Yusuf did not realize, never knew, worried only about Nicolo wasting away, but never knew why. Except Nicolo told him. Yusuf had said Nicolo spoke in everything he did. Nicolo told him in his actions. And Yusuf did not hear him. Why did he not hear him?

"I understand, but the battle I fought alone is lost."

Yusuf’s eyes widened.

Nicolo, Nicolo, no, no, wait...

Nicolo’s gaze reached Yusuf and stayed on him, unflinching as Dirar moved a hand over him and Badlh hunched lower, his trousers dropping to the floor, hands grabbing, touching, filthy hands gripping Nicolo’s face. Nicolo’s jaw flexed, his hands dropping to his sides...

...and snatched Badlh’s dagger off the floor.

“Down!” Nicolo shouted in lingua as he threw the dagger.

The dagger against Yusuf’s throat sliced as Yusuf threw himself to the floor. He felt an ice cold line down to his shoulder, hot blood oozing. He caught the dagger as it fell, dropped when Nicolo’s dagger found its target: Yusuf’s capturer’s throat, sending the man crashing into the one who had a knee on Yusuf’s back.

Yusuf swung the dagger he gained: up and right towards his remaining captor. He heard a gurgle. He did not stop to watch him die.

Nicolo writhed in the floor, bucking against Badlh’s hands around his throat. He could not kick free; his torn trousers tangled around his ankles.

Dirar was struggling to get up, his face a mix of blood and broken teeth, his eyes bloodshot. His jaw was broken, unhinged by Nicolo’s swift kick. He screamed, garbled and furious, as he lurched to his feet. The two men in the back surged forward.

Yusuf felt his insides boiled when he realized Dirar used Nicolo’s longsword to push himself to his feet.

But Nicolo was fighting and fading.

With a shout, Yusuf spun around, slammed the dagger into Badlh’s back, his other hand shooting down to clasp around Nicolo’s reaching hand. Badlh died before he could make a sound.

“Can you fight?” Yusuf asked in Greek. He stepped in front of Nicolo, felt him trembling against his back as he tugged up the shreds of his trousers and retied its laces.

“If you still want to with me,” Nicolo panted in lingua, his Greek lost in his daze.

“Always,” Yusuf said before he charged towards Dirar with a snarl.

Dirar was his.

Behind him, Nicolo took the weapon buried in Badlh’s body. Yusuf threw himself at the two approaching men, his arms flung out to catch them both by the chests. He felt a blade skim across his ribs.

Nicolo shouted. Something sang through the air. 

Yusuf caught his scimitar. He lashed down in a deadly arc. He was upon the second man before the first fell.

The other swung desperately, his eyes wide with fear, his sword sloppy.

Yusuf’s scimitar knocked the sword to the floor. As Nicolo delivered the finishing blow, Yusuf spun towards Dirar.

“That sword,” Yusuf seethed, “is not yours.” He pointed his scimitar at Dirar. “Neither is he.”

Dirar spat, blood splattering as he charged, Nicolo’s sword swinging wildly towards Yusuf.

What Dirar lacked in skill, he made up with rage. His swings bore all his fury, crashing into Yusuf’s scimitar. Each blow shook through Yusuf’s arm. He was forced to hold his blade with both hands.

Dirar was shouting, screaming about his wife and child, how he sent them away from Damascus, how he thought they were safe while he defended the city. After, he dragged his wounded body to seek his family. But the marching Franks had found them first.

Yusuf felt pity but it did not last when he realized it was pity that stayed Nicolo’s hand before. It was pity that fed into a guilt that never went away and became Nicolo’s personal plague that ate him from the inside.

“Traitor!” Dirar screamed. His anger turned towards Yusuf.

Yusuf’s shoulders burned as he blocked each blow. Nicolo’s sword kept Dirar out of striking distance. Yusuf’s scimitar could not possible reach.

Then, Yusuf’s foot slipped on the blood that streaked the floor.

Dirar’s face contorted as he raised the sword high, shrieking he will knock Yusuf’s head off his shoulders.

With a hoarse cry, Nicolo was suddenly in front of Yusuf grabbing the tip of his own sword with both hands.

Yusuf lunged forward, past Nicolo, his scimitar whipping out.

Dirar howled, his hands flying to clutch his torso, screaming as Yusuf sliced apart what had hurt Nicolo.

Nicolo’s sword clattered to the floor.

“Your hands,” Yusuf reached for Nicolo’s hands pressed to Nicolo’s chest. “Let me se—“

Nicolo flinched.

Yusuf froze. He recovered quickly, his scimitar pointed to Dirar snarling and cursing on the ground. His own cock laid by Dirar’s feet. The blood was still flowing.

“You should let me die,” Dirar screamed around his broken jaw and the bubbling of his broken nose. He doubled over, his hands cupped over the ruin of his sex.

“You still may,” Yusuf said coldly. “A quick death is too good for you. May your death be a slow and painful one.”

Yusuf turned his shoulder at Dirar. He studied Nicolo next to him.

“If anyone should serve the final blow,” Yusuf said quietly. He held out his scimitar. “It is you.”

Nicolo pulled his eyes away from Dirar. His eyes were nearly colorless with despair. He looked numbly at Dirar, at Yusuf and back at Dirar again.

Nicolo shook his head. His jaw clenched, his eyes sorrowful. He sharply turned away from Dirar and stumbled towards the door.

Yusuf gave Dirar one last look.

“I hope no one finds you in time,” Yusuf said. “I hope your wife and child will not be waiting for you, ashamed for the man you have become.”

Yusuf turned on his heels. Dirar screamed incoherently after him. Yusuf jammed a piece of wood into the door. If Dirar found a way to crawl to the door, he will find it barred from the outside. Let him lay down on a river of his own blood and a field of bodies.

When Yusuf turned around, he blinked. The four he killed were nowhere in sight.

“I tossed them into the Nile,” Nicolo said, more towards Yusuf’s boots.

Yusuf grunted. He wiped his scimitar on a rag by the railing. “It will give us time before they are discovered.”

Nicolo’s shoulders dropped. “We have to leave.”

“Yes,” Yusuf said. “Will you look at me, please? Nicolo—“

“We better go,” Nicolo interrupted. He veered around Yusuf and went down the plank, his longsword clutched in his hands, a long cloak he found tied around his middle. There were faint trails of blood that went down the sides of his legs and disappearing into the sagging edges of his boots.

A lump in his throat, Yusuf followed.

Yazim’s cat yowled when someone outside stepped on its tail.

In the house, both Nicolo and Yusuf’s heads shot up. 

The docks were suspiciously empty when he and Nicolo left the ship. When Yusuf mused out loud the strangeness of it, Nicolo tersely said it was because Dirar sent some away and kept his loyal ones on the ship. Dirar planned to reward their devotion.

Yusuf did not say anything more after that. He could not. The lump in his throat would not let him.

A few people gave them squinty looks at their disheveled appearances, especially Yusuf. He was not able to clean off all of the blood. It meant people will notice and people will talk. If the right question was asked to the right person, Dirar's people will find them.

They had changed quickly when they reached their home, at the same time packing what funds Yusuf saved and what they can carry. They had changed with their backs to each other. Yusuf was keenly aware of how Nicolo's movements stuttered as he hastily cleaned up with a rag only dampened with the remaining tea. They did not dare spare time to get water other than to fill their waterskins.

In a distance not quite far enough away, a man swore at Yazim's cat. Another snapped at him to be silent.

Someone had asked the right question then.

“Do you have everything?” Nicolo said tersely. He slung his pack over his shoulder. 

Yusuf hurriedly stuffed the constellations scroll into his pack.

“I have enough,” Yusuf said. He reached out to prod Nicolo forward, stopping when Nicolo tensed. He wordlessly gestured to Nicolo to go ahead and watched Nicolo slip out the door. After a count of three, Yusuf followed. 

They took the pathway that would lead them down to the back of the markets and to the stables to Nicolo’s horse and hopefully to one Yusuf could borrow. Nicolo's horse survived their escape from Damascus. Yusuf's did not.

Yusuf could hear men, loyal to Dirar, trying to determine which was their home. Some cursed as Yazim’s cat scratched and hissed at the intruders. The well bucket rattled as it fell over. Another yelped, outraged when the cat bit him.

Okay, the cat? Perhaps not so bad, after all.

There was no one guarding the stables. There was another horse besides Nicolo’s brown one. A broad chested animal in the color of soot with a mane and tail as dark as night. It lazily chewed dried grass and watching them with little interest with its large ebony eyes. It was congenial enough to be coaxed out of its warm pen, but refused to walk further.

Nicolo's horse seemed alert, its ears perking up when Nicolo slung his pack on it.

Yusuf's horse snorted, stepping back when Yusuf tried to do the same.

"I do not know if he is fast," Nicolo said worriedly. He patted the horse's flanks. "I have seen him pull carts from the docks. He used to be Khalil's..." 

Nicolo set his jaw. He did not finish. He went around the horse, his hands sweeping across it, inspecting. It stood there tolerating the inspection as it continued to chew grass. 

Yusuf watched how Nicolo's hands shook when he grasped the reins and tested the harness. He should tell Nicolo there was no time. But he held his tongue, watching Nicolo check Yusuf's horse, his ears open to any approaching sounds.

“My horse is fast enough. I...Should we...” Nicolo hedged.

“No,” Yusuf said firmly. “We do not separate. We ride out together. Think of anything else but that.” 

Nicolo's eyes slid to his own horse. His throat worked as he nodded.

"All right," Nicolo rasped. "Which way—"

A shout from afar. Then two. An arrow suddenly punctured the pole that held up the stable's roof. Nicolo's horse merely snorted. Yusuf's reared up on its hind legs, startled.

"Into the market," Yusuf said as he climbed up the beast. Thankfully, a jerk of the reins calmed the horse.

Nicolo was about to ask when another arrow passed close enough a red line appeared on his left cheek. 

"Go!" Yusuf shouted. He slapped Nicolo's horse on its rump and shot off after Nicolo as the shouting grew close enough to make out nine voices.

The market was crowded as more people ventured out with the sun at its highest. They milled around the fruits and meats of the day's offerings. They bickered and gossiped about the ongoings of the inner city.

They scattered when Yusuf and Nicolo's horses burst through.

"Out of the way!" Yusuf hollered as he waved madly at those too slow to jump back the first time. Behind him, Dirar's men chased them on foot. With the stalls and the people, the horses were not an advantage, but Yusuf hoped the market would create enough confusion so their pursuers would find it hard to follow.

In front of him, Nicolo's horse wove between the stalls and people. Nicolo kept looking back for Yusuf. 

An arrow zipped by, past Yusuf's ear, barely missing Nicolo.

"Left!" Yusuf shouted in Greek. He stayed close to Nicolo's horse. 

Yusuf's horse seemed to revel in the chaos Yusuf steered it into. Hooves pounded on melons, skidded on dates and thumped on the ground. It shrieked as it raced past people, chomping the air in delight.

Yusuf found himself a mad horse.

Nicolo's horse suddenly made a sharp right and Yusuf followed, catching the men blocking their path out of the corner of his eye. He gritted his teeth, starting when he saw a familiar stall up ahead.

"Make way!" Yusuf said, switching to lingua. He charged past Nicolo, leaned to his far right and snatched up a bolt of linen as he passed. His horse barreled into the stall. It collapsed. Yusuf did not apologize to Aziz's white face.

"Whose stall was that?" Nicolo shouted after Yusuf.

"Take this end," Yusuf chose to reply instead and unfurled enough fabric for Nicolo to fist the cloth's tail. 

Nicolo's eyes widened. He nodded to Yusuf.

Yusuf turned back around, towards the men blocking their path, the fabric unraveling more and more like a banner.

Nicolo stayed close behind, holding tight to his end.

There were five men blocking the only path out of the market and into the desert. They raised their swords when they spotted Yusuf and Nicolo. 

Nicolo raced up to meet Yusuf's pace, their horses' strides matched up. The fabric stretched taut between them.

Like a fishing net, the fabric slapped around the men before they could react. Tangled, they easily fell to the ground after a kick to the wiggling mound.

Yusuf pulled out the small bag of coins Aziz gave him from his pocket. He tossed the foul smelling coins behind him.

"A gift from Dirar!" Yusuf shouted at the people scrabbling forward, some on top of Dirar's people trying to free themselves. Greedy hands reaching for coins stampede the men and blocked the rest of their pursuers.

With a burst of speed, Yusuf and Nicolo rode out, leaving Cairo behind.

Their pursuers dogged behind Yusuf and Nicolo, far away the seven on horseback wavered as mirages.

But not far enough away that an arrow did not find Nicolo's back.

Yusuf heard a grunt, turned around only to discover Nicolo had rode behind him to intercept the arrow.

"Can you still ride?" Yusuf yelled as he grabbed Nicolo's reins before the horse could bolt. Yusuf's horse pranced in place. In fact, both horses did. Nicolo's horse almost threw him off. 

"As long as I stay on my horse, yes," Nicolo grit out. He reached behind him and snapped the shaft off close to his body. He clenched his teeth, nodding as he tugged his reins out of Yusuf's grip. "Keep going. It is fine."

Yusuf pursed his lips, but did not argue. Not here. Not now. 

Clicking his tongue, jerking the reins, Yusuf urged his horse to run. Nicolo stayed behind him. He refused to line up with Yusuf's horse. At Yusuf's back, Nicolo panted as he rode, white-faced with pain, expression hard and refusing to speak.

There was nothing Yusuf could do. So he rode, faster and faster with Nicolo at his back, sand billowing behind them like smoke.

After the third arrow found Nicolo and not Yusuf, Yusuf snatched Nicolo's reins and did not let go.

"I can still ride," Nicolo bit out. He grunted as one of the arrows at last pushed out from his shoulders.

"You ride besides me, not behind me," Yusuf said. He clutched the reins tighter as Nicolo tried to reclaim them. 

"Besides me, Nicolo." Yusuf repeated. "I do not need a shield."

Nicolo's eyes were gray with pain that were not just from the arrows. "Let me do this for y--"

"You have done enough for me." Yusuf's voice cracked. He could not stop it. His eyes welled. "You have done too much already, _hobi_."

Nicolo closed his eyes. He breathed out shakily as he reopened them. 

"They are still behind us."

Yusuf smiled grimly. "Not for long. I now know why our horses are skittish." He nodded to the horizon and the vast golden smoke that rose up from the desert.

Sandstorm.

Nicolo set his jaw. "The horses..."

"We will send them on their way. They knew this storm was coming. They will know where to go to be safe. But they will go faster without us on their backs. The others will not dare follow us into this."

Nicolo was climbing off his horse before Yusuf finished and did the same. He grimaced as he slung his pack over his shoulder. He looked in one direction at the seven chasing them. He looked at the storm.

Yusuf extended his left arm.

Nicolo reached out and gripped Yusuf's forearm.

Yusuf wrapped his hand on Nicolo's wrist. He felt Nicolo's pulse beating under his fingers.

"Let us go," Yusuf murmured.

Together, they turned and ran towards the sandstorm.


	14. (Nicolo) - Cairo, 12th century

He felt Yusuf's hand slip off. The same time the sands ripped his grip off Yusuf's arm. 

He heard Yusuf scream his name. 

Or was it the storm?

Or the sneers of others?

He...he wasn't sure.

He was tired. 

Pushing through the storm, feeling the sand scoured every part of exposed skin, feeling the air stolen from his lungs before he even knew it was there.

It was a frighteningly familiar feeling. Only he was not out in the desert back then. He was on a boat, on his knees, sinking as he is now. 

_  
"I also paid you to swallow."_

_"You were willing enough to take our coin."_

_"Give Nicolo a chance to show you how he has been earning his coin."  
_

The heat of the sand gathering over him burned, like a pot he grabbed too soon from the fire. He felt himself sinking, falling to his knees and choking, choking and they were jeering around him as his mouth gaped wider, but no air flooded in. Just--

"...icolo!"

Yusuf knows. He knows everything now.

"...Nico..."

_Everything._

The women will see everything as well, dream of him on his knees, coins dropping around him as he accepted object after object.

The wind no longer howled around him. Everything felt heavy.

Buried. He was buried.

Nicolo kept his eyes closed. Grains of sand stung the corners each time he tried to open his eyes. He felt sand slowly trickling into his nostrils and partially opened mouth.

Wait, he was supposed to open his mouth wider.

_“He is mine to teach."_

Nicolo heard Yusuf's grief and shock on Dirar's boat. He could not look at Yusuf and see Yusuf's reaction to the sight of him on his hands and knees, ready and willing to service, to...to.... 

"Nicolo!"

Muffled, far away, distant. Yusuf was out of his reach. 

Another sort of burning collected in his eyes. His breath hitched, then stuttered when he realized there was no air.

His chest expanded, but a weight pressed back, stopping him. He made a sound, the weak protest lost to the sand around him.

Nicolo's heart thumped faster and faster, his chest struggled to expand. It hurt to fight when victory was nowhere in sight.

Nicolo wheezed, choking as sand continued to trickle into his nose and mouth. He struggled to breathe as the object slid in deeper, scraping his throat raw...

...no, no, wait, it is not...

...he was so tired.

 _"Nicolo!"_ Yusuf howled. 

Yusuf...

If Yusuf could not find him, will it be so bad? This weight on Nicolo's chest hurt less than the weight that would not go away in his stomach. This weight did not taste like them. Eternity under the sand, out of reach from everything that hurts does not seem so bad. 

"No," Yusuf shouted from far away. "Do not do this! Show yourself!"

No...he can not. There was nothing left to see. Nothing he wanted Yusuf to see. Dirar stripped him of all his worth. They all did. And Yusuf knows now, before he could tell him himself.

"We are supposed to fight together!"

...but he is so tired, too tired to even weep.

"This is not how we end!" Yusuf shouted. He sounded closer, near. "I will not allow it!"

Do any of them have a say? Did Yusuf have a say when he was shackled with Nicolo and eternity? Unlike he. He went willingly to his shame. He took the coin. He swallowed every drop.

"Please," Yusuf plead, "You did so much, can you not do this? Please. Please, _hobi_ , show yourself."

But he can not stand to hear Yusuf like this.

"... _hobi_..."

He knows what it means now. His undeserving heart echoes it. He was tired, but he also ached. He ached to hear Yusuf happy.

He flexed, tried to move an arm or a leg. Anything.

Sand flowed around him in earnest, like water pouring into his lungs. As he tried to move a hand, opposite of the sand falling on him, his mouth opened wider for air. And like many times before, air was denied. But he kept trying because Yusuf...Yusuf...

"Nicolo..." Yusuf shouted, his voice thick with grief, with pain. Yusuf was hurt.

Nicolo's eyes flew open, tearing as sand blinded him. His body arched, fighting to surface. Everything burned. Everything hurts. 

But Yusuf...Yusuf...

His right hand broke free. He clawed hot dry air as the rest of him convulsed, trapped and dying. He choked on sand, sawing raw sounds as he instinctively swallowed, his stomach writhing on the dryness of it all. His lungs burned. His eyes burned. His body jerked, unable to get free and the hand that broke free started to fall...

As Nicolo drowned in sand, a hand wrapped around his and pulled.

Life hurts after death. 

Nicolo exploded into a cough that quickly became a retching agony.

A hand turned his head and he vomited bloody chunks of sand and spit to what looked like stone. He discovered he was curled across a lap. He blinked blearily up. Yusuf was covered in sand, grains trickling off his beard, his hair and his clothes.

Yusuf smiled, pulling his face, splitting dry lips and releasing trickles of blood that colored his teeth.

Around them, it appeared to be an oasis. A ruin of sandstone walls surrounded them with a palm tree grove that was shredded by the storm. Reeds that must surround a lagoon stood around them with its heads torn off. 

Yusuf brushed a gritty hand down Nicolo's face. Nicolo felt sand spilling into the neckline of his tunic. He shuddered.

Yusuf felt solid against Nicolo's cheek when Yusuf pulled him closer. He settled Nicolo to his chest and Nicolo drifted, lulled by the steady thumps of Yusuf's heart.

A waterskin spout was pressed to Nicolo's mouth. He sputtered, spilling precious water. He could not remember what anything tastes like anymore. He was not sure if it was water flowing down his throat. But Nicolo swallowed as best he could because Yusuf offered it. Affter a painful swallow, Nicolo found he could finally speak.

Nicolo tipped his head up. He patted Yusuf's arm wrapped around his middle as if fearing the sands would snatch Nicolo away. He coughed. Yusuf ducked his head lower to listen.

"...Did..." Nicolo rasped and he needed another sip he trusted was water. 

"Did..." Nicolo wheezed. "Did you call me a disgruntled cat again?"

Yusuf gaped down at Nicolo. Then he hunched over Nicolo and laughed and cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, everybody. More on Saturday. :)


	15. (Yusuf) - Cairo, 12th century

The storm separated them from their belongings. Worse, the storm separated them. 

They held on as best they could. Nicolo left bloody furrows on Yusuf's arm. Yusuf's nails were caked in blood from where he clutched Nicolo. Still, the storm snatched them apart. Yusuf screamed as he choked in suffocating sand. He did everything his father taught him _not_ to do if trapped in a sandstorm. He fought the winds, pushing past billows of sand to the direction Nicolo was tossed. 

In the end, the storm won. Yusuf died a choking death, buried face down in the sand. He revived, died, revived again, screaming Nicolo's name, his mind befuddled. He dreamed of the women again. But it did not matter. Nicolo was nowhere in sight.

Cold night became day yet Yusuf continued searching, dotting the desert with rocks he found tossed by the storm. He marked each spot he searched until all his dry, burning eyes could see were the stones, scattered about like stars.

Yusuf found their packs. He raged the skies for the pitiful substitute. 

Driven to desperation, Yusuf started screaming for Nicolo, begging, pleading for his Nicolo to hear him. He yelled himself hoarse, shouting until he passed out, woke up and shouted again. 

The day was turning to dusk again when a hand shot out of the sand like a pike.

Yusuf scooped sand out with Nicolo's sword that was strapped on the pack. Then Yusuf used his hands. 

Nicolo was still in his arms, skin cracked in many places. The sand had him for too long. He revived, his heart weakly beating before fading despite Yusuf's frantic calls. They needed water. They needed shelter.

As Yusuf pulled Nicolo's limp body into his arms, he heard a neigh. In the distance, to Yusuf's left was a brown horse with a black tail and front hooves. It tossed its head and nickered.

That mad horse found an oasis.

Yusuf carried Nicolo, their packs dragged along behind him using his straps linked together as a tether. His footsteps grew clumsier by the time he stumbled into the oasis. 

It took too long. Nicolo wheezed and died in Yusuf's arms once more before they reached shelter. It was once a stone building for travelers, but sand had bleached the remaining standing stone walls to the same color. The lagoon was small and shallow, the palm trees short. Yusuf and Nicolo would have rode past it without knowing it was there.

The horse snorted in greeting as Yusuf settled himself and Nicolo under shade. He waited for Nicolo to revive. He will come back. He held back Nicolo's sandy hair as he vomited. He gave Nicolo all of the water. He wept after Nicolo spoke.

It will be fine, Yusuf thought as he watched Nicolo dropped to sleep on Yusuf's thigh. He dropped a hand on Nicolo's head. 

Nicolo whimpered, head rolling on top of Yusuf's lap. He turned on his side, legs twitching as he tucked his arms around himself.

Yusuf stroked Nicolo's hair, gently brushing off sand that remained.

"We are away," Yusuf murmured, humming in his gravelly scraped throat. He wanted to curl around Nicolo's back, pull him close, but he was not sure if it would be welcomed.

But right now, he let Nicolo huddle closer, his head bumping into Yusuf's belly. Right now, he shook out the blanket and covered Nicolo. He did not need it. Nicolo was enough to keep him warm in the darkness. 

In a moment, he will get up, retrieve the packs he abandoned at the boundaries of the oasis. In a moment, he will make a fire. In a moment, he will examine the stars above them and determine where they are and where they will go.

Nicolo's brow furrowed, his lips moved. Yusuf's name spilled out sad and small.

"I am here." Yusuf cupped the back of Nicolo's head, his thumb circling and soothing the scalp.

In a moment. Not now. Later.

Yusuf exhaled, his throat aching at the unintentional echo. He closed his eyes and followed Nicolo in sleep.

Yusuf woke to the scent of burning wood, sweet dates and sand. He blinked sleepily down at himself, drowsily plucking the blanket pulled up to his chin.

Yusuf's eyes widened.

"Nicolo!" Yusuf scrambled up to his feet. He noted the fire he did not make, the plump waterskins he did not refill, the dates he did not soak in a battered tin bowl next to them.

"Nicolo!" Yusuf heard himself, high-pitched and frantic as if he was standing alone in a vast desert again.

"Here." Nicolo stepped away from one of the ruins' walls. His hair was damp. All the blood was washed from his face. He twisted the neckline of his tunic with a finger. There was no belt for his shirt so it hung loose. It made him look smaller. 

Yusuf started for Nicolo, stopped and let his arms hang on his sides.

"I..." Yusuf exhaled. "I thought perhaps I only dreamed I found you."

Nicolo smiled faintly. "Are you disappointed?"

Yusuf stared, dismayed. "Disa—no, Nicolo, no. If I did not find you, I would have haunted the desert for the rest of my long life to search for you."

Nicolo offered another small, uncertain smile. "Even after everything?"

"Yes," Yusuf replied immediately. "Have you lost will to your fight already? On the ship..." He looked away.

Nicolo's tired sigh hurt to hear.

"It feels like I am not sure if it was worth fighting at all," Nicolo admitted. "I am tired."

Yusuf's eyes burned. He nodded. 

"Then we rest. Far away from here. Just the two of us. And rediscovered what to fight for again."

Yusuf studied Nicolo. The distance seemed to stretch longer between them.

"May I come to you?" Yusuf murmured.

Something flitted across Nicolo's expression. He hung his head.

"Why would you want to?" Nicolo croaked. He clawed the wall. He shifted until he was half-hidden behind it.

Yusuf stared after Nicolo. "I will always want to. No matter what has..." 

"You mean no matter how many used my mouth?" Nicolo bit out.

Yusuf flinched before he could squash the urge.

Nicolo saw and chuckled humorlessly. 

"When you asked when it will be "Later," did you imagine it could be anything like this?"

Yusuf's stomach clenched.

"No," Yusuf admitted. "But it would not have mattered—"

Nicolo scoffed. He retreated behind the wall a step.

"It would not have mattered," Yusuf said louder, "Except that it hurt you! No matter what it was, all that truly mattered was that it hurt you."

Nicolo fell silent. He slid down to his knees, his face partially blocked by the wall.

"You said it was in everything I do," Nicolo muttered.

"What?" Yusuf ached to step closer.

"Poetry." Only half a smile was visible, but it twisted Yusuf's insides. "What sort of poetry was it when I dropped to my knees and accepted coin for cock?"

And there it was, out in the air, the truth hung cruel between them.

"I did it all willingly," Nicolo choked. "I regret nothing. I took every coin into my pocket and was back days later swallowing each cock like—"

"Stop," Yusuf breathed. His heart stung with each word. "Nicolo, do not do—"

"It was already done, Yusuf." Nicolo rested his forehead on the wall. "It was already done. Verse for verse. The poetry of my shame."

"Nicolo," Yusuf dared a step, then another until he stood on the other side of the wall. "What can I do?" 

Nicolo shook his head, his forehead rocking on the wall. He did not cry. Yusuf wanted to do it for him. He tentatively reached for the white knuckled grip around the edge.

Trembling, cold fingers threaded through Yusuf's. They held on, desperate and tight. Nicolo did not look up. He did not get up. He held on to Yusuf's hand, knelt in the sand and clung to a destroyed wall.

Yusuf rested his forehead on the other side of it and held on to Nicolo's hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and now begins the recovery and an over abundance of fluff. LOL.


	16. (Nicolo) - Somewhere outside of Alexandria, 12th century

Yusuf insisted he did not miss the cities.

They took turns riding the surviving horse, moving away from Cairo, avoided Alexandria and found a small fishing village by the coast. Yusuf pointed to their left was Tunis and beyond that his homelands. Which meant Nicolo’s land was across the sea, to his right, beyond the Byzantium isles and the waters where pirates were rumored to lurk.

Nicolo did not point Genoa out. There was no point. He has no ties to the land. His name was paired di Genova for a reason. There was no one there who would grieve for him. 

It was for the best. There was no one there to be ashamed of him as well.

The village spoke a mix of Greek and lingua franca. They regarded anyone with suspicion whether they looked like Nicolo or Yusuf. Yusuf joked it was refreshing; they share equal portion of the prejudices for once.

There was an abandoned house outside the village, left to woe after the family fled for more prosperous opportunities. It sat next to a stream that fed from a far away river. It was on flat grass where they can see the enemy in all directions.

It was close enough that if Nicolo wanted, he could walk to the village at twilight and throw a net to sea by the time the sun completed its rise. It was far enough away that no one would question why the two men never aged.

Nicolo said offhand as Yusuf repaired the roof (he insisted Nicolo can not help until Yusuf can no longer count his ribs), that it was less than a half a day’s ride to Alexandria. Yusuf agreed that was useful if Yusuf wanted to sell his scrolls in their market. Alexandria was smaller than Cairo, but it boasted a busy port which meant traders.

Yusuf did not suggest going there, though. Nicolo was glad.

The week passed...quietly. Nicolo felt Yusuf watching him but if Nicolo did not say anything, Yusuf did not press. When Nicolo set up a bedroll closer to the door, Yusuf’s lips pressed together but he did not comment. He built two pallets, deliberately putting his pallet behind Nicolo’s, within reaching distance. He appeared to wait for Nicolo to protest. When Nicolo did not, Yusuf’s shoulders slumped.

“Later” never came up again.

Nicolo sat on a flat stone by the stream, waiting to see if the net Yusuf traded for in the village would yield more fish. Yesterday brought a good catch, enough so that Yusuf rode to the village with a full basket and Nicolo dried a week’s worth under the sun for themselves.

The stream gurgled softly in front of Nicolo. The net floated limp and empty in the water.

Perhaps they should grow something. Or raise a goat? Or a hen? Nicolo’s heart hammered the longer he stared at the net. What if yesterday was all the fish to be caught? What if they can not trade for food?

_"You were willing enough to take our coin."_

Nicolo drew up his knees. He stared at the net. It was still empty.

_Hands grabbed his ears. The object prodded his lower lip, pushing it, exposing his teeth. It oozed into his lower lip. He gagged and it dove in, so quick, he blacked out. When he roused, the object continued to piston deep into his throat._

Nicolo wrapped his arms around his middle. His chin bumped against his knees.

The net was still empty.

It was fine. It will be fine, Nicolo repeated to himself. He bent over his arms, his stomach twisted, churning loudly. He could feel them in his belly, roaring to break free, crawling up from the inside, up his throat, souring his tongue...

Nicolo clamped his lips together. His stomach kept filling with them. No, no, no...

_”I also paid you to swallow.”_

Nicolo’s breathing quickened, roaring louder and louder in his ears.

The net was still empty.

A sound whined out from the base of Nicolo’s throat. He dropped his forehead onto his knees, his arms wrapping tighter around himself.

“Nicolo?”

_His scalp burned as the hand yanked his hair back. His jaw locked, his throat spasm as it tried to fit around the object. It kept coming, it kept filling, they kept sneering, Dirar held it at the base to keep it deep in his throat._

Nicolo’s stomach cramped sharper and sharper. His heart ran faster, a horse charging out into the desert, a horde of murderers at Antioch’s walls, screaming, yelling, blind to everything, he could not breathe, could not bite, could not look away, he...he...

A quiet hum wrapped around Nicolo. It was a tune he did not know, but the voice was familiar. He just...could not grasp at the name.

Nicolo blinked, confused when he discovered he was curled towards...

“...we are fine, you are here, I am here...”

Yusuf has a loose arm around Nicolo’s shoulders, turning Nicolo so his head was tucked against Yusuf’s shoulder.

It turned dark without Nicolo realizing it. Yusuf sat close to Nicolo, but looked straight ahead at the stream. Nicolo raised his eyes towards the waters.

The net was still empty.

“We are fine,” Yusuf murmured when Nicolo made a sound. He reached around Nicolo’s shoulders and tugged Yusuf’s cloak draped over them both.

“You are here,” Yusuf continued. “I am here...we are fine...you ar—“

“All I could offer was me,” Nicolo croaked.

Yusuf quieted.

“My sword, my faith, myself.” Nicolo’s throat worked. “My faith was broken. My sword was sullied. All I have left was me.”

“Dirar knew that was what you believed,” Yusuf said. He rubbed Nicolo’s shoulders after he said Dirar’s name. “He preyed on your kind heart, struck when you were low and made you—“

Nicolo’s breathing hitched.

Yusuf stopped.

“He did not make me,” Nicolo rasped. “He offered. I...I accepted. I was willing.”

“You did not look willing when I was there.” Yusuf exhaled suddenly. “I did not mean to make you remember.”

“You did not.” Nicolo’s arms shrank around his middle. “I can not seem to forget.”

Nicolo’s stomach lurched.

“I...they are still in me.”

Yusuf shook his head. “They are not.”

“I can still taste them. They still coat my belly with—“

“They are not, Nicolo.” Yusuf vibrated against Nicolo. “They...they are gone. It is over. You do not have to do this ever again.”

Yusuf choked. “No, you should not have done this at all. Why? Why, Nicolo? I did not...we did not need...how was I so blind to what he forced you to do?”

Nicolo closed his eyes.

Yusuf sighed. His breathing steadied against Nicolo.

“We are fine. We will rest here. Let them come to us. We will stay here and...be.”

Yusuf settled his chin on top of Nicolo.

“I made food,” Yusuf said softly. “Do you feel like eating?”

Nicolo shook his head.

Yusuf exhaled.

“But,” Nicolo rasped. “I will eat...I will try.”

Yusuf carefully hugged him.

“Thank you, Nicolo,” Yusuf whispered. It felt like Yusuf was thanking him for much more than wasting his food.

Nicolo curled his arms tighter around himself and pretended he was hungry.


	17. (Yusuf) - Somewhere outside of Alexandria, 12th century

Nicolo often went somewhere he could not follow.

Yusuf was pleasantly surprised, not expecting his trip to the village would yield three requests for letters and a simple illustration for a child’s gift. They were easy enough to do in the village without needing to return for his pens and ink. He was rewarded with figs, beans and radishes for his work. He was also gifted the last of a season’s crop set to sail on a ship in Alexandria: an odd roundish melon with a rind texture of coarse sand.

The horse—he should think of a name for it eventually—tried to chomp on the melon. He wasted daylight wrangling the accursed horse to stop trying to eat what was in the baskets and take him home. The horse retaliated by bolting from the start and had Yusuf not expected it, he would have fallen and break his neck in front of the villagers who gathered around to watch the beast’s antics again.

By the time Yusuf spotted their mud brick house, the sun was starting its descent and the sky was lush in colors he has not seen in a long time. For a brief moment, he wished for some cinnamon and berries to mix into ink so he may spill the sky onto paper.

It was a fleeting thought, one Yusuf viciously squashed down.

How many times did Yusuf voice a longing and Nicolo gave him days later? A new pen, a stack of thick paper that still smelled of fresh pulp, a thick woven blanket. Were they all bought off of Nicolo’s suffering?

Like many times before, Yusuf’s eyes prickled with tears he did not dare shed. Not in front of Nicolo. No. He will not burden his Nicolo with such petty thoughts. They were here, in this little house, to rest. To be, as he told Nicolo.

But when Yusuf reached the house, he did not find Nicolo within, but at the stream past the fig trees that were left to grow wild when the house was first abandoned.

When Yusuf called Nicolo’s name, Nicolo did not answer.

Yusuf recognized what this was. When they repaired the house, he often turned around and found Nicolo staring off into a distance. The first time it happened, Yusuf made the mistake of trying to shake Nicolo awake. Fortunately his nose healed quickly by the time Nicolo roused.

“Nicolo,” Yusuf murmured as he reached the stream. He was not surprised when Nicolo did not respond. Nicolo was folded tight with his knees pulled in, his thin arms wrapped around himself in a lonely hug.

Yusuf sat down, gently tucked Nicolo against him. He shared his cloak with Nicolo. 

Nicolo would return to him. Nicolo would not be so cruel to leave him behind. He did not do so in the desert. He will not leave Yusuf here by the stream.

So Yusuf waited. 

When they returned to the house, Nicolo did try to eat as he promised. He was intrigued by the melon Yusuf showed him. They have previously seen glimpses of the round melon and its vivid orange flesh at various markets, but did not have the coin to spare to try.

The melon was sweet, the juice dribbling down to Yusuf’s beard. Nicolo offered him a tired smile at the sight. He listened to Yusuf describe the letters he helped write, even chuckling as Yusuf had hoped about the part of the horse.

“I have never encountered such a disagreeable animal,” Yusuf grumbled as he rose from Nicolo’s pallet. There was no more wood to make chairs. They relied on the pallet for seating by the crooked leg table.

“Each time I ride him, he tries to throw me off. I swear it laughs at me.”

Yusuf put aside the rest of the melon for tomorrow. He gathered the seeds and rinds. Perhaps he will bury them by the fig trees and see if the ground would return melons. Nicolo seemed to enjoy it; he ate most of the thin wedge Yusuf cut out.

“I think he is resentful he remains unnamed,” Nicolo rasped. He stayed huddled under Yusuf’s cloak. It was too soon to burn kindling in the hearth that was built into the wall. Wood is not easily found in these lands.

“He has a name,” Yusuf said as he pulled his tunic over his head to put into a basket by the door for wash tomorrow. There was juice everywhere on him. It was a tasty but messy food. “I call him wretched beast.”

“I have thought we should name it, but could not think of a name that will suit its horrible disposition,” Yusuf continued as he wiped his chest and throat clean with a rag.

“What do you think of the name Mud?”

Yusuf twisted around by the waist and caught Nicolo averting his eyes from his bare chest, his throat working.

Yusuf lowered the rag.

“You need not fear to look,” Yusuf said. He turned around fully. “You must know by now I am yours.”

Nicolo’s head dropped.

Yusuf sat on Nicolo’s pallet to be near.

“And I hope that you are mine?” Yusuf added in a softer voice. He could not help the hopeful lilt in his voice.

Nicolo exhaled unsteadily. He shrank under Yusuf’s cloak.

“Even now?” Nicolo sighed. “Even after knowing everything?”

“Yes.”

Nicolo raised his head.

Yusuf wished he could touch Nicolo, pull him in like he did by the stream. But Nicolo looked like the horse, ready to bolt.

“Even after everything,” Yusuf murmured. His hand crept closer on the pallet until it stayed shy of touching Nicolo’s knee. “You and I. There is no room between us for anything else. I see only you before me, brighter than the moon outside. No matter what, I see only you.”

Nicolo’s mouth contorted. He fidgeted closer, his thigh close enough that Yusuf could feel the heat of Nicolo’s body off his fingertips.

“I see you,” Nicolo confessed. He covered his face with a trembling hand. “And I wish to touch you like before, but I do not know what I should be feeling.”

Yusuf gave in to his urge. He slipped his hand over Nicolo’s leg.

“I have said it before. I would gladly tell you a thousand times more. Trust what your heart tells you. It has not steered you wrong.”

“No?” Nicolo said bitterly.

Yusuf sat closer to, their knees touching.

“You once told me it was your heart that told you to lower your sword. It was your heart that told you to fight against your own people for the widow and child. It was your heart that told you to stay by my side after bandits slay me.”

Yusuf squeezed Nicolo’s leg. It ached when he realized he could do so with a single hand.

“What does your heart tell you now?” Yusuf whispered.

Nicolo covered Yusuf’s hand. He splayed the other hand over his heart. His mouth parted. He sighed with tired longing.

“It says I am frightened.” Nicolo’s hand clutched Yusuf’s hand tighter. “Not of you, but of myself. I feel...I feel...”

Nicolo’s breath quickened.

“I feel corrupted,” Nicolo said at last. “And I fear if I touch you, I would corrupt you as well.”

Yusuf turned his hand over so he could woven their hands together.

“Are you sure?” Yusuf murmured. “You feel like my Nicolo.”

Nicolo shuddered, exhaling what sounded close to be a sob.

Yusuf lifted a hand, hovering close to Nicolo’s face. He waited.

Nicolo kept his eyes on Yusuf as he leaned into the offered hand.

“Do you trust me?” Yusuf whispered.

“Yes,” Nicolo replied immediately.

Yusuf’s thumb stroked the skin under Nicolo’s eye. Despite its shadows, the skin was soft, in a vulnerable way that made Yusuf’s heart ache for Nicolo. How could anyone fathom to hurt a man like him?

“Close your eyes,” Yusuf murmured. His thumb felt the slight movement as Nicolo closed his eyes.

Yusuf kept his hand entangled with Nicolo’s. The other cradled Nicolo’s face, his thumb tracing the line of his cheekbone.

“What does that feel like?”

Nicolo’s throat bobbed. “Like you’re touching my face.”

“And?” Yusuf prodded as his thumb followed the shape of Nicolo’s nose, stopping at his mouth.

“I feel like...you are staring at me.”

“Does it bother you?” Yusuf murmured. His hand moved down to caress the strong neck to the broad line of his shoulder.

Nicolo swallowed. “N...No,” he uttered. His brow knitted. “I think it—“

“Don’t think,” Yusuf shushed Nicolo. “Just feel.”

Yusuf’s hand swept over Nicolo’s throat, over and over like the way he had sealed the walls with a mix of sand and damp mud, filling the cracks, sealing the surfaces, rebuilding it solid and whole.

Nicolo’s mouth parted.

“Sh,” Yusuf soothed as he continued his brushstrokes on Nicolo’s neck. “May I take off your shirt?”

Nicolo mutely nodded, his hand slipping out from Yusuf’s grasp and reached for the hem.

“Let me.”

Yusuf gathered the hem of Nicolo’s tunic with both hands. He rolled up the shirt up over Nicolo’s sunken belly, his chest, through Nicolo’s raised arms and over his head. He cupped the back of Nicolo’s hair, running careful fingers through it to straighten the brown strands.

Nicolo shivered.

“Cold?” Yusuf rubbed his hands along Nicolo’s sides. Nicolo’s ribcage expanded under his palms. Yusuf kept his hands on Nicolo, letting Nicolo’s breathing carry his hands up and down.

“No, I...” Nicolo gestured to his hair behind him. “They...they liked to pull when I...” His chin dipped. “I did not like it when they touch me. I felt sick after.”

“When I do this,” Yusuf ran his hand slowly through Nicolo’s hair, “is it good?” He thought of Nicolo that night, how his hands twitched, afraid to touch Yusuf’s hair.

“It felt good when you touched my hair,” Yusuf went on. He continued combing through Nicolo’s hair. He was careful not to pull through the tangles, lightly massaging Nicolo's scalp.

“This feels good.” Nicolo took a deep breath. “Nice.”

Yusuf hummed. He pulled away from the hair, heartened Nicolo uttered a disappointed sound instead of relief. He moved his hand down Nicolo’s back in long, slow strokes. His fingers danced along the knobby line of Nicolo’s spine.

“What are you feeling now?”

Nicolo swallowed. “I feel hot, my skin...my skin feels like it is wrapped around me too tight.” He dropped his hands close to Yusuf, but not touching.

“I feel like I am without my armor,” Nicolo whispered. “Like you can strike me down but I trust that you will not.”

Yusuf framed his hands on Nicolo’s hips.

“I felt the same when you touched me that night,” Yusuf said. “Did I feel like...” He swallowed. “Did I feel like them?”

Nicolo shook his head. “You felt like you.”

“As did you.” Yusuf gently kneaded Nicolo’s lower back. He kept his hands above Nicolo’s trousers. Yusuf wanted to cup his cock. Touching Nicolo’s warm skin thrilled him more than he thought possible. But he denied himself. Right now, this was for Nicolo.

“Open your eyes, my heart.”

Yusuf captured Nicolo’s chin. He dipped his head and peered up at Nicolo.

“You do not feel corrupted to me,” Yusuf said. He gazed deep and wondered how Nicolo’s eyes changed, like a blue gem held under star light. Every time he looked at Nicolo, it was different eyes. He wanted to collect each one and horde them like treasure.

Yusuf guided Nicolo’s hands to his cheeks. He felt Nicolo’s fingers curl into his beard.

“So? Do I feel corrupted to you?”

Nicolo’s eyes went distant, like by the stream, but they cleared quickly and found Yusuf’s eyes.

Nicolo shook his head. His hands tightened over Yusuf’s cheeks.

Yusuf imagined what a sight he must be: grinning, his cheeks squished under Nicolo’s hands. He slid his hands over Nicolo’s. He was rewarded with a slight quirk of Nicolo’s mouth.

“You feel like salvation,” Nicolo murmured.

“How strange,” Yusuf murmured. He pulled one of Nicolo’s hands to his lips and dropped a kiss into Nicolo’s palm.

“You feel like salvation, too.”


	18. (Nicolo) - Somewhere outside of Alexandria, 12th century

He knows Yusuf wants to kiss him.

It was strange. Nicolo was kissed everywhere. Last night, Yusuf kissed across Nicolo’s ribs, his chest, his throat. It was enjoyable, it felt like life, baptized as Yusuf teased him to unfurl into his release. But when Yusuf drew near Nicolo’s mouth, Nicolo had tensed, his mouth clamped shut, his breath quickening and growing short. 

Yusuf did not react, he simply tilted his head and kissed Nicolo’s ear instead as if it was what he meant to do.

Nicolo was aware Yusuf watched him. They spent days touching and kissing places that still tingled in his memory. But he could not stop himself from tensing whenever Yusuf drew too close to his mouth. He tried. He wished he did better. 

Yusuf was patient whenever Nicolo balked. It felt like Yusuf needed to constantly gauge when to approach him. It was like they stood before the gates of battle many years ago. Nicolo did not wish for those days again. He needed to do better. Poor Yusuf should not worry so much over him. 

Like for the past week, Yusuf’s eyes on him when he rose from the bed this morning. Right now, Yusuf silently tracked Nicolo as he sat in the dirt and pulled rocks and weeds out of a patch of rich soil by the fig trees. Yusuf dragged their table outside and tried to repair the crooked legs close by.

And they spent the afternoon like this: Yusuf's dull thumps as he hammered wood (or tried, he hit his thumb twice, he reacted loudly) and Nicolo's fingers clawing the dirt for rocks. His small scoop broke, but he did not want to think about if they have the coin to get another.

Every time Nicolo turned around, expecting wariness from across, Yusuf’s gaze remained, but gentling each time their eyes met.

But Yusuf should not kiss him. Because...because...

_”I also paid you to swallow.”_

The shale Nicolo pulled out dropped and shattered by his knees. He clamped a hand over his mouth. He breathed through his nose.

_”You need to open wider to fit me into your sweet mouth..."_

No, no, no. He can not do this. Stop this. Stop.

Nicolo choked behind his hand, his throat flexing as he fought to swallow. It was endless. It tasted bitter. He felt it flooding into his mouth because he could not swallow fast enough, the object darting in and out, barring the way. It left his teeth feeling oily. It congealed under his tongue.

Yusuf was suddenly next to Nicolo, sitting on his heels and poking the dirt with a stick.

“What you think?” Yusuf said abruptly. He did not look at Nicolo. “If we put the melon seeds in with the figs, do you think we get giant figs?”

Nicolo swallowed again and again. His tongue felt like it was too big for his mouth, blocking anything from the path to his throat, but they tried anyway. They thrust and thrust. His eyes watered. No, it is over. Why must he still think of this? 

“Or will we get tiny melons the size of figs?” Yusuf grunted. He held up two fingers to measure what he thought was a small fig. 

“I would prefer figs the size of melons. If we feed hens those figs, will we get giant eggs, yea? Ah! Would their shells still look like shells? How would we crack them?”

Nicolo lowered his hand. He quietly panted. He blinked rapidly at the hole Yusuf dug larger with a stick. The stick has snapped in two. Yusuf was holding a stick half in each hand now, disturbing the dirt, mixing the soil like it was a bowl of grain.

“If we grow figs the size of melons,” Yusuf continued, “Think of all the uses! We can eat for days on just one fig. Or...Or...” The dirt tossed about like an earthy rain.

“We...we can toss it in the water,” Nicolo whispered, “Striking the fish. Better than the nets.”

“It would yield much fish,” Yusuf agreed readily. His arm slipped around Nicolo’s shoulders. He still did not look at Nicolo, but he was solid against Nicolo, his voice a steady thrum in his ears. "It would be a brilliant invention, yea? A fig melon, ah, catapult!"

Nicolo's throat seemed to belong to him again.

“And...and...we can eat the fig after,” Nicolo rasped.

“Oh ho, an excellent point!” Yusuf exclaimed. “But figs that size, we will be sick of figs soon enough. When I was a child, I once ate so much—“

“I still taste them in my mouth.”

Yusuf silenced.

Nicolo covered his mouth again but too late. His whimper escaped before his mind stopped it. Pathetic. What has he become? His eyes squeezed shut.

“I do not know why I say that.” Nicolo let himself fall against Yusuf when Yusuf tugged. He sat in the dirt, his legs folded under him. His knees hurt. He did not want to think about his knees hurting.

“I should not have said that,” Nicolo rasped. He breathed out sharply. "I am sorry. Why did I say that?"

Yusuf rested his cheek on top of Nicolo’s head. His beard tickled his temples.

“Is this why you get sick after eating?” Yusuf asked, the cheer in his voice gone. Nicolo’s chest squeezed; he did that. He stole Yusuf's joy with his thoughtless words.

Nicolo stared at the bark of the fig tree and the tender round leaves that drooped. Its branches sagged with ripe fruit, purple and black offerings that should look delicious to Nicolo.

“They also paid me to swallow.” Nicolo did not know why he was still talking.

“A bronze coin if I could only swallow some. Two copper pieces if I t-took it all.”

_Stop talking. Stop talking._

“Half of the coins were taken away when I use too much teeth. One beat me when I tried to bite. I let him because I could not let him see me die.”

Yusuf’s sticks fell limp in the dirt hole.

The sour and bitterness rose up Nicolo’s throat.

“Why am I—I should not have said—Sorry.” Nicolo’s chin lowered. He waited to be pushed away.

“I am glad you told m—no, not glad.”

Nicolo’s lips pressed together, bloodless.

Yusuf kissed the side of Nicolo’s head.

“I am grateful you told me and let me share your pain.”

Nicolo shuddered against Yusuf. They stayed crouched under the fig trees.

“Is this why you are afraid of me kissing you?” Yusuf rasped. “Do I remind you of them?”

Nicolo shook his head against Yusuf’s shoulder. His throat worked. The burning returned. He wanted to vomit even though he knew in his mind it is the small morning meal of flatbread and boiled peas that would come up. He did not eat the egg Yusuf offered. He could not. It was the last one.

“I did not want you to taste them in my mouth,” Nicolo half-whimpered. He wanted to burrow into the dirt hole. “I know you want to kiss me, but you should not.”

Yusuf kissed the top of his head once more.

“What do you think of some chickens?” Yusuf said suddenly. “The stable behind the house is too old. I can make it smaller and use the material left to make a pen.”

Nicolo could not speak. He kept his lips together, pleading for his throat to give him some peace.

“It would give us eggs. There is a widow in the village who wants to sell two of her young hens. I promised her I will let her know our decision when I go back tomorrow.”

Nicolo’s tongue felt thick again. Each time he tried to swallow, it got in the way. Air tasted stale in his mouth.

Yusuf absently rubbed Nicolo’s arm up and down as he continued to think out loud.

“The hens would pester the horse, of course. That would be entertaining. The beast needs to learn humility. Do you think their eggs will look like figs?”

Nicolo scrubbed his mouth with his sleeve. 

“What?” Nicolo managed.

“If we feed the hens our giant figs!” Yusuf gestured with a large sweeping motion at the dirt hole. "They would be wondrous! What should we call our fig looking eggs?"

Nicolo felt the taste in his mouth fade. He glanced up at Yusuf's beaming expression. When Yusuf waggled his eyebrows, Nicolo shook his head as he scoffed.

“If we feed the hens your magical figs, would not the eggs taste like figs?”

“Ah.” Yusuf sounded disappointed. “That does not sound appetizing. I like my eggs to taste like eggs.”

It felt easier to retort back, “It would be an improvement to your cooking though.”

Yusuf shook Nicolo gently under his arm. He felt so warm. Nicolo wanted to hide in him.

“You do not have an appreciation for my imaginative cooking.”

Nicolo shook his head even as he huddled closer to the heat of Yusuf’s body.

“I think no one would have an appetite for your imaginative cooking.”

Yusuf chuckled. He tipped his head towards Nicolo, bumping Nicolo’s head slightly. He grumbled about Nicolo’s palate but as he helped Nicolo to his feet, Yusuf was smiling.

Nicolo found it hard to keep his head up for the rest of the day. He rest his head on his folded arms as he watched Yusuf attempt his imaginative cooking again, claiming he learned a recipe from someone in the village.

Yusuf did not seem to mind the silence. He occasionally brushed a hand over Nicolo’s shoulders and neck as he passed by to gather lentils, the fish Nicolo had sun dried for themselves and spices. He set them on the table in front of Nicolo. He was regaling Nicolo gossip he overheard when he was last at the village. It was something about a fisherman, a incensed wife (not the fisherman’s) and a lost goat. Nicolo could not follow. His head felt heavy. His mouth still tasted dirty and stale ever since he spoke.

Time passed without Nicolo being aware because soon a steaming bowl of spiced lentils and fish with slivers of bread were set down before Nicolo. Yusuf sat next to him, their hips touching, an arm around Nicolo’s shoulders.

“I know you do not think you can eat,” Yusuf said quietly. He lowered his head to catch Nicolo’s half-opened eyes. “Would you like to try if only just a small bite? I would very much like to hear how terrible you think it is.” He winked and added, “Or how wonderful.”

Nicolo blinked tiredly at Yusuf.

“I do not mean to worry you,” Nicolo murmured. He pressed his eyes over his arms. 

Yusuf shook his head. He slipped fingers into Nicolo’s hair and kneaded his scalp.

“You could be smiling like a fool and I would worry,” Yusuf replied. “You stray my sight but for a moment and it would hurt like we were apart for centuries.”

Yusuf settled his head down on folded arms, mimicking Nicolo. He gazed back.

Nicolo swallowed. “I do not wish to be like this. I should not. Why?”

“It will not be for long. They are not here with us. It is only you and I,” Yusuf whispered. “And we will stay here for as long it is until you believe it.”

Yusuf reached over and traced Nicolo’s lower lip with a finger.

“You did not feel corrupted when you touched me. I did not feel corrupted when I touched you. There is nothing about you I do not long for. I would want you for eternity. I feel like this is why I exist.”

Nicolo blinked rapidly.

Yusuf continued touching Nicolo’s mouth, brushing a finger along Nicolo’s skin.

“It is the same for me,” Nicolo rasped. “There is so much I do not know, but I know this.”

Yusuf’s finger stayed on Nicolo’s lower lip. His eyes darkened when Nicolo tentatively nipped it with his teeth. Yusuf’s finger slipped out and he touched his own mouth with it. His eyes stayed locked with Nicolo’s as his finger drifted back to Nicolo’s lower lip.

Nicolo sat up, copying Yusuf. He curled a hand around Yusuf’s finger and nipped it again, this time tasting faint spice and salt.

“Cumin, coriander,” Yusuf answered the curiosity in Nicolo’s eyes. He watched Nicolo as Nicolo turned his hand and nipped the other fingers.

Yusuf pulled his fingers back to his mouth. He pressed his fingers to his lips. He smiled. His fingers trailed around his lips and drifted back to Nicolo.

Yusuf’s fingers were gentle on Nicolo’s mouth, the hint of what he cooked lingered after the fingers pulled away.

Nicolo found himself leaning in, following Yusuf’s fingers. He hesitated. His heart hammered as if it would burst. Was it fright? No, it could not be. Not with Yusuf.

“Yusuf...” Nicolo murmured. He ran the tip of his tongue over his lower lip. “I do not feel afraid. Why?”

Yusuf slipped a hand around Nicolo’s nape. He leaned in as well, gazing deep into Nicolo’s eyes. He seemed pleased by whatever he saw. He captured Nicolo’s chin with his other hand. He tugged, gently as he continued to sway towards Nicolo.

They met halfway.

Warm dry lips pressed against Nicolo’s. Just once. Yusuf pulled back, letting go of Nicolo’s chin.

“It is fine?” Yusuf murmured. His other hand massaged Nicolo’s nape. He brushed his lips across Nicolo’s again.

Nicolo relaxed under Yusuf’s hand. He released the breath he held when Yusuf kissed him.

“You and I, _hobi_ ,” Yusuf sighed as he cupped Nicolo’s jaw.

“You and I,” Nicolo echoed. He fell forward, his arms slipping around Yusuf's shoulders as their lips met again.

Yusuf’s mouth parted and Nicolo copied him. He felt a flutter again his lips; Yusuf’s breath. He opened his mouth wider to capture. Yusuf’s hand palmed Nicolo’s jaw, tilting in one way while his head turned the other.

The changed angle slotted their mouths together. It felt like Yusuf was breathing for him. Nicolo breathed out, tried to do the same, shivering when it felt like Yusuf was everywhere. His hands, his breath, his skin brushing against Nicolo’s.

Yusuf murmured something encouraging as Nicolo leaned in more, eager to feel Yusuf wrapped around him. Yusuf was warmer than any cloak, tasted both familiar and new. Yusuf’s touch felt different like this. His skin shivered as his mouth was tasted.

Nicolo groaned into Yusuf’s mouth when he felt Yusuf’s tongue swiping across his teeth. He felt devoured. He felt savored.

With a sigh, Yusuf pulled away but not too far. He held Nicolo’s face with both his hands. He kissed Nicolo’s mouth, his eyelids, his cheeks.

“Nicolo,” Yusuf whispered. “My Nicolo.” He smiled. “You are all I can taste. It is everything I ever craved for and also did not know I even wanted.”

By some miracle, it felt the same for Nicolo. And Yusuf seemed to understand. He grinned at Nicolo, cradling Nicolo's face with both hands. They were warm. They were large. They were undeniably Yusuf's.

“It is only us here,” Yusuf murmured. "No matter what you remember or tell me, remember this as well."

“You and I,” Nicolo sighed.

"Ay."

Nicolo’s eyes slipped closed and fell back into Yusuf's embrace. Yusuf caught him gladly into another kiss.


	19. (Yusuf) - Somewhere outside of Alexandria, 12th century

_He has not felt like this since the cry rose to defend the city._

_His hands curled, seeking a scimitar that was not within his reach._

_Dirar, Badlh, even that old fool Aziz, they suffered too little. Something deep inside him howled for blood. It shocked him. It frightened him. Allah, where was this rage from?_

_Before him, his own image appeared. His rage boiled to a heat that melt metal and forged blades._

_Fool, he railed. How did you not know? How did you not see?_

_His image did not answer, his head bent and lost in his accursed pen work, his useless plans and his longing for Nicolo._

_He was no better than Dirar. Nicolo struggled to be his djinn, grant his every wish and possessed each cost upon himself. While Yusuf puttered and dreamed, Nicolo bled out his beautiful soul for coin to grant his wishes._

_His breath hitched as he heard Dirar’s taunts, his mocking praise as Nicolo knelt in front of the merchant with defeated eyes. He was stripped down completely, his body offered in exchange for Yusuf's paltry longings._

_A pen? A bit of food? The blanket? What misery did Nicolo embraced because of him?_

_Fool. Fool...._

A hand slipped over Yusuf’s bunched fists, thin, long boned and gentle. A grace like no other.

Yusuf snapped awake, for once alert as soon as his eyes open. He realized he was lying in bed, behind Nicolo’s pallet.

But instead of staring at Nicolo’s hunched back, a pair of gray blue eyes gazed back with sleepy concern. Light expressive eyes that often swirled dark like elegant Byzantium mosaics. 

“You were dreaming,” Nicolo murmured. He was turned around on his pallet, facing Yusuf from across the short gap between them. 

Nicolo smiled faintly. “I am used to being the one with the dreams and you waking me.”

Yusuf rolled onto his back. He rubbed his face with his hands. He was sticky with sweat, his face tight as if he had wept yet his eyes were dry.

“Did I wake you?” Yusuf rasped.

Nicolo uttered a negative. Ah, Nicolo would have to be asleep first.

Yusuf turned towards Nicolo once more.

Nicolo shrugged one shoulder. He stretched out a hand towards Yusuf’s bed.

Yusuf grasped Nicolo’s cool hand. He fidgeted closer to the edge and kissed Nicolo’s knuckles.

“I am sorry,” Nicolo whispered. His mouth pressed thin, unhappy. “Even at night, my failings disturb you. No peace even in sleep.”

The only failings was in Yusuf, but he could not bring himself to admit it out loud. He wished Nicolo’s eyes held blame, but it was never in Nicolo to hold blame towards anyone other than himself. Nicolo embraced guilt like it was his inheritance. 

Yusuf tucked Nicolo’s hand under his cheek. He stroked his beard over Nicolo’s fingers.

“ _My_ failings to you disturbed my sleep, not you, never you,” Yusuf replied. “All my dreams of you were always welcomed. Waking up to you even more so.”

“You never failed me.” Nicolo smiled, a weary small thing that made Yusuf ache. "You did not force me to do anything. I did this all willing, at no one's behest." His smile faded. "And perhaps why I can not forget, but I will accept it. Eventually. I should."

Yusuf's heart cracked with every word. He did not know what he could offer to be a balm to Nicolo's wounded soul. 

“Soon, you will believe you can have joy. And that while you can not forget, you will accept there is nothing to forgive as well." Yusuf turned his head and kissed Nicolo’s fingertips as he rubbed his beard along Nicolo’s hand and wrist.

"One day, I will have you grinning like a fool,” Yusuf vowed.

“You do that a lot on your own,” Nicolo pointed out. “Do we need two fools between us?”

“All right,” Yusuf conceded, “I will gladly weep my eyes out forever if it means you grin like a fool in exchange.”

Nicolo frowned. “I would find no joy if you are unhappy. You are a bigger fool if you believe this.”

“Ah, Nicolo,” Yusuf said fondly. “You say little, but when you do they are always gems and so precious to me. Very well, we will both be fools, for all the years we are given.”

Nicolo rested his cheek with his free hand.

“I can not promise to grin like a fool, but I promise I will make you weep less.”

Yusuf sighed deeply. “You already do, _hobi_.”

Nicolo blinked. “Did you call me a disgruntled cat again?”

“Ah, ah,” Yusuf laughed. He scrubbed his beard up and down what part of Nicolo’s hand he could reach. Nicolo made a face but did not pull his hand away.

“We both know now it does not mean that.”

“And you would not share what it means.”

Yusuf rubbed his suddenly heated cheeks on Nicolo’s knuckles.

“Ah,” Yusuf murmured, “It is a turn of Arabic from my homelands. It means more than I could explain. What word could I attach to it would be pitiful, lacking.”

“ _Hobi_ ,” Nicolo murmured.

“Ack, _that_ sounds like a disgruntled cat. Have pity on my ears.” Yusuf chortled when Nicolo scowled.

Nicolo’s face smoothed out. He studied Yusuf from his pallet.

“Do you think you can go back to sleep?” Nicolo asked tentatively. “The moon still owns the sky.”

Yusuf’s smile faded a little. He shrugged a shoulder. He rested his face on Nicolo’s hand. He wondered if he could move his pallet closer.

Nicolo swallowed, looking unsure. “Do you want me to—“

“Yes,” Yusuf said before Nicolo finished. “Always.” Yusuf eagerly moved back to make room. He watched Nicolo shift to his pallet. Yusuf resisted yanking Nicolo to him.

Nicolo lay back on his side, facing Yusuf. He was close enough Yusuf could see himself in those ever changing eyes. They looked like the moon reflected off blue seas.

“You were shouting Dirar's name in your sleep.”

Yusuf was pulled from his reverie by Nicolo’s hesitant words. He grimaced. “Was I?”

Nicolo’s brow knitted. “Do you remember your dream?”

No, Nicolo did not need this. He did not need to hear Yusuf’s complaints or disregard his own feelings to make room for Yusuf’s.

Yusuf kissed Nicolo’s knuckles once more.

“It is fine,” Yusuf assured. He tried to smooth the furrow that lay between Nicolo’s brow with a tender swipe of his thumb. “The only dreams I wish to remember are about you.”

Nicolo studied Yusuf, keen eyes despite the shadows on his drawn face. He relented, but Yusuf knew Nicolo would only let it go for now.

“Me? What do you dream about?” Nicolo asked. His eyebrow rose when Yusuf laughed nervously.

“Well, ah, dream, yes,” Yusuf chuckled as he slipped hands on Nicolo, coaxing him to turn around. “I...I dream of this, of kissing your neck, of kissing your nose, of us kissing under the fig tree, kissing under the moonlight—“

“All you dream about is kissing?” Nicolo tolerated Yusuf’s prodding. He rolled to the other side, huffing when Yusuf tugged him to settle back on his chest.

Yusuf felt a piece of him form full in his heart, filling a hollow that he missed for so long.

"This," Yusuf mumbled. He held tight. "I dream of this, of feeling complete with you here in my arms. I dream of this most of all."

Nicolo exhaled.

“Perhaps,” Nicolo admitted, “I dreamed of this myself. I was...afraid what I might feel touching you. Or you touching me.”

Yusuf’s nose wiggled deeper, searching for his favorite spot. He kissed Nicolo’s nape, at the spot center on his neck, the softest and warmest, hidden under long brown hair burnt honey by the sun’s affection for Nicolo.

"Ah, Nicolo," Yusuf exhaled. He stroked the soft tunic Nicolo wore, drifting to his belly and back up to his heart. He spread his palm, shielding Nicolo's heart. If only it was that simple.

Nicolo felt thin in Yusuf's arms yet reassuring rested against his chest. The breaths that filled Nicolo's chest filled Yusuf's as well.

"When I touch you," Yusuf whispered, "I feel whole." He caressed a slow line down Nicolo's front. There was a hint of heat, below Nicolo's waist. "When my fingers touch your skin, I feel blessed with each stroke."

Nicolo's breath stuttered. He fidgeted closer, his stomach sinking in, inviting Yusuf's hand to wander.

"Nicolo?" Yusuf dared not ask. His hand paused at Nicolo's waist.

"Yusuf," Nicolo exhaled. He arched back, his shoulders pressing into Yusuf's chest. A trembling hand covered Yusuf's. "It feels like before. What is this?"

Yusuf swallowed as their clasped hands drifted to the soft bulge between Nicolo's legs. He waited, keeping their hands there until he hears protest. There was none. Nicolo's lovely cock shyly twitched within worn trousers, stirring as their hands grazed over the length.

Nicolo whimpered, a catch in his throat. His legs jerked, his cock grinding into their hands. 

"Sh," Yusuf hushed. "Gentle, your skin deserves grace." 

Yusuf held Nicolo against him, his hips rolling to encourage Nicolo to follow. His own clothed cock brushed along Nicolo's lower back.

Nicolo hesitated. He shifted, the swell of his buttocks meeting Yusuf's desire.

"No," Yusuf dropped kisses along Nicolo's name and shoulders. "I need only to touch you. It is enough. We have time. There is no rush."

Nicolo visibly relaxed, almost collapsing into Yusuf's body. He swayed within the curl of Yusuf's body, soft choked off cries as their hands continued to rub down Nicolo's clothed cock.

"Yus—Yusuf..."

Nicolo sounded less terrified, his voice shaking with anticipation. He writhed. He panted.

"Almost there," Yusuf whispered. "You feel wonderful against me. I will remember how you feel forever in my dreams."

Nicolo's head rolled as he whined, shaking and shuddering like he was lost to a powerful wind. He rocked, his cries going higher, frantic. 

" _Nicolo_ ," Yusuf groaned, a great big shudder racked the length of his body. He spilled messily into his trousers. His hand clenched around Nicolo's, causing it to curl tight around Nicolo's length.

Nicolo sounded startled as he shouted, spilling into his own trousers, dampening their hands. He bucked weakly as Yusuf gently pulled down his trousers with a hooked finger. He hushed, murmured into Nicolo's nape as he massaged the cock the last trickles of his release.

"Nicolo," Yusuf murmured, his hand loose around Nicolo's softened cock. "How is it with each touch I only crave for more?"

"Yusuf," Nicolo whimpered. He sounded stunned.

Yusuf kissed Nicolo's nape once more. He climbed over Nicolo, smiling to himself when Nicolo grumbled. Yusuf tugged down his trousers, watched with far too greedy eyes as Nicolo wiggled out of his. They were both set by the door for wash later.

"My beautiful heart," Yusuf soothed as he cleaned Nicolo and himself. He climbed back over Nicolo and hugged him close. Their bare legs tangled together in a warm braid of heat and skin.

"How could you fear touching me? It is like coming back from death over and over under your hands."

"The same," Nicolo mumbled. "It is the same for me." 

"Good." Yusuf nuzzled Nicolo's nape. "Sleep. I know I can now with you this near."

Nicolo sighed again. He sounded sleepier. His hand clasped Yusuf's over his stomach.

“Do not laugh, but I...I dreamed of us asleep together more than anything.”

Yusuf hugged Nicolo closer to him. He wished he could tuck Nicolo somewhere safe, from the Dirars out there and from Nicolo’s own wounded soul.

“Sleep well, Yusuf,” Nicolo murmured.

Yusuf did not reply, already dreaming of far better worthier things like the man in his arms.


	20. (Nicolo) - Somewhere outside of Alexandria, 12th century

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: well, more like a blanket heads up for the rest of the chapters that smut will be abound. Um, sorry? LOL

Yusuf, Nicolo thought desperately. Where did he go?

There were so many people.

Nicolo breathed slowly through his nose but it was not working.

The still nameless horse snorted while it stood impatiently by the edge of the fishing village. Many walked by, eyeing Nicolo and his two woven cages of two brown chickens clucking inside.

Yusuf heard of a man who needed a skilled letter writer fluent in Arabic and Greek. Nicolo stammered he would wait by the horse. And he was all right waiting by the horse until he bumped into a man who stared too long at him before grinning or leering. Nicolo did not wait to see which the man will do. 

And so by the horse, Nicolo waited.

Nicolo was not sure how long he waited, but his skin burned more and more as he stood. They were looking, perhaps recognizing him? He remained standing rather than sit on one of the barrels that were carted over from the port in Alexandria. Or was it from Cairo? Was that where the man was from? It has not been long. Did Dirar live? Did he hear where Nicolo was? Or did the others came in hopes of a quick coin for a sweet mouth?

The horse nickered, bumping its soft nose against Nicolo’s right shoulder. It neighed when he jumped, dropping the cages on the ground. The chickens squawked.

That man by the cart...did he know Nicolo? The woman laughing as she handed over bread to another...was she from the markets? That man that walked by...why did he glance back at him?

Nicolo’s breath quickened, his stomach twisting tighter and tighter. There was something pushing up his throat. The chickens by his feet were starting to sound shrill. The horse next to him was growling. The village, when did the village become so big? The faces...did he know these faces? Did they know him?

Hands trembling, Nicolo picked up the cages. He gripped the woven handles so tight, his hands bled. But he took no notice.

“Do not leave without him,” Nicolo mumbled to the horse and started walking.

After Nicolo stumbled for the second time, Nicolo realized how foolish and cowardly he behaved.

Did he not promise Yusuf he would have Yusuf worry less? Why did he agree to go into the village to look at the hens? He let himself relax, rested against Yusuf’s back as they rode together into the village. He smiled at the animals, shook his head as Yusuf haggled with the widow while Nicolo distracted the widow’s children by drawing letters in the silt. 

Nicolo set the cages down. He ran a hand through his hair.

He was getting better, was he not? He ate more. He smiled more. On warm days, he and Yusuf laid on top of Yusuf’s cloak and discovered what each touch meant to each other, how sun heated skin slid against each other and how heady it felt teasing each other with kisses and shy strokes.

Why? Why now? Why did Nicolo see that face? Was it a face of a lustful merchant? Or a look he saw too often cast his way, Dirar pointing Nicolo out like a prized horse?

_"I also paid—"_

“No, no, no,” Nicolo muttered. He crouched down to the ground, his hands clutching his hair until it felt like someone else was clutching his hair. He breathed between clenched teeth. He counted to three. Then five. Then ten. 

He should walk back. He should wait by the horse as promised. No, he should have gone with Yusuf or offer to wander the village. There was always work to do, markets to trade in. Even as small of a village, there is coin to be earned...

_”I also—“_

No. Quiet. Stop thinking about them. No. Stop. He can breathe. His skin does not crawl. His mouth does not taste foul.

Nicolo swallowed. The faint clink of coins dropping to his knees rang sharp in his ears. He breathed out slowly. 

“Stop. I was willing,” Nicolo muttered. “It is done. Stop.”

He would go back. He would get off this ground, off his knees and go back and wait by the horse.

Nicolo could not move. Not yet.

One of the chickens suddenly chirped. When Nicolo blearily glanced down, he saw the shadow that swept over him and the hens, before Yusuf’s presence, as familiar as the sun on his back, sat on his heels next to him.

Nicolo bowed his head. 

“I thought I saw someone from Cairo.”

Yusuf stiffened besides him. 

“Ah,” Yusuf breathed out. “It is good you left in haste. Did he recognize you? Should we go back and find him?”

Nicolo stared. “You do not doubt me?”

Yusuf settled a hand between Nicolo’s shoulders.

“If you do not doubt, why should I?” Yusuf gazed back steadily. “Should we go back?”

Nicolo felt an overwhelming feeling rising up his throat. He dropped his eyes to the ground. His throat worked but would not let him speak.

Yusuf, however, merely nodded. He pressed his hand firmer on Nicolo’s shoulders. 

“All right,” Yusuf murmured, but did not rise to his feet. He seemed content to have Nicolo lean into him, tuck his hands within the folds of Yusuf’s cloak and simply breathe. Their shade seemed to please the caged hens. They chirped and cooed by their feet. 

“Eggs and entertainment,” Yusuf mumbled. He poked between the weave at an inquisitive tiny beak. “I am tempted to get the other two and the rooster the widow offered. Think of the fun.”

“Think of the noise,” Nicolo rasped. “There was a flock in the monastery I was raised in. The crowing at first light...you would not be pleased.”

Yusuf harrumphed. “No, I would not.” 

The hand on Nicolo’s back continued to move up and down, a gentle stroke that made him long for the afternoons curled against Yusuf under the fig trees again. 

“We can go back,” Yusuf offered casually.

“We can,” Nicolo agreed. “But we should not. It...it was nothing.”

“It concerned you. It is not nothing.” 

Nicolo lowered his head on Yusuf’s arm, hunching under Yusuf’s cloak.

“It is enough that you think it is not nothing,” Nicolo said.

“Is it?” Yusuf sounded bitter. “A pretty phrase? How reassuring I am able to accomplish so much for you.”

Nicolo closed his eyes, hearing the same anguish from Yusuf’s dreams. The dreams Yusuf said he did not recall.

“It is you saying the words that is important,” Nicolo said. “I wish I knew the pretty phrases that would prove how much a word from you means to me.” He would have to prove it to Yusuf in everything he does as Yusuf said he did.

Yusuf exhaled. He rocked slightly on his heels.

“Everything you do is poetry and says more than I could ever hope to convey,” Yusuf murmured. “What a marvel you are. I seek you in hopes to comfort and here you are, soothing my soul instead.” He kissed the top of Nicolo’s head. "Your kind heart never ceases to amaze me." 

Nicolo savored the quiet around them. The village far behind them, their house far ahead, there was a peace being here in the middle of a path. It felt hopeful as he absorbed the heat of Yusuf’s body and stayed steady under Yusuf’s hand.

Something occurred to Nicolo.

“Yusuf...” Nicolo murmured.

Yusuf hummed questioning. He tugged more of the cloak over Nicolo.

“...where is the horse?”

Yusuf grunted. “It ran off as soon as it saw me. Wretched beast must have gone home without me again.”

Nicolo huffed, an aborted laugh as he shakily stood up. He took one chicken, Yusuf took charge of the other. They walked together, sharing the cloak, towards the home without looking back.

Yusuf did not comment when Nicolo mumbled he needed to bathe as soon as they arrived home. He nodded and made to head into the house. He hesitated but slowly nodded again when Nicolo asked if Yusuf would stay. 

The water was cool around Nicolo’s bare torso as he sat in the rock on the bottom of the pool. They had moved a boulder from up river and rolled it to the stream where it split to many small pools they dug deep enough to bathe and flow out back into the waters that fed the seas. It was closer to the house, far enough away that fish from the river did not accidentally swim into the pools. 

Yusuf took off his boots, rolled up his trousers and dipped his feet as Nicolo sat on the rock. Nicolo kept his trousers on. Yusuf did not appear to mind.

“Was I not right?” Yusuf grumbled as he kicked the water, splashing Nicolo. “That miserable horse was chewing its feed and about to nap when we arrived—“

“You should have doubted me,” Nicolo interrupted quietly. The rock was hard underneath, the water rippling around him, but Yusuf’s eyes were placid, endlessly brown and unfairly patient. “The face I saw, I was wrong. You should have doubted me.”

Yusuf hummed. He dipped a rag into the water and took time to wipe the back of his neck.

“It is all right,” Yusuf murmured. 

“I thought...for sure I thought...” Nicolo wished he has a better explanation. “I am seeing faces not truly there.”

“It would not be the first time,” Yusuf said, but not unkindly. “You and I have seen many fallen faces from the battlefield years later.”

Nicolo ducked his head into the water, held his breath before he sat up again.

“But that is it,” Nicolo said miserably. “They are not faces of the dead, they are here and they remember me and I can not stop from remembering them.” The taste, the smell, it felt like they oozed into his skin.

Yusuf idly kicked the water, sending ripples towards Nicolo’s way.

“There is a ship,” Yusuf said at last, “in Alexandria. It sails past the lands the Turks rule, in the isles closest to the East. Say but a word and we can sail tomorrow.”

Nicolo stared at Yusuf. “You have just spent coin on hens and feed.” He shook his head.

“No, we should stay. We should not be wasteful—“

Water splashed as Yusuf leaned in towards Nicolo.

“I would gladly give up all my possessions, carve my heart out of my body, give up my eyes if it means it will give you peace,” Yusuf said fiercely. “There is no place too far I would not go.” 

Yusuf reached over and fingered the damp locks of Nicolo’s hair. 

“We are not wasteful if it brings you peace. It is of little cost. Do not worry about our finances. Not this time. “ 

A shadow flickered across Yusuf’s face. Nicolo chastised himself, remembering Yusuf’s dreams.

“You do not owe me anything.”

Yusuf stiffened. 

“No?” Yusuf said gruffly. He looked away. “What you paid for my comfort? It is a debt you should not have on your shoulders.”

“It is a debt I do not intend to collect,” Nicolo countered. He swiped a hand over the water around him. “I do this willingly and I, I do not regret it. My only regret is—“

“That I found out,” Yusuf croaked. He covered his eyes with a hand. His mouth twisted. “Were you going to never tell me?”

Nicolo’s eyes lowered. His watery reflection was of a man he no longer recognized.

“I was going to confess,” Nicolo said quietly. His throat worked. “After Dirar, after Aziz—“

“ _Confess_?” Yusuf sounded distraught. “You have not committed a sin. Confess? You did nothing wrong!”

“No?” Nicolo whispered. “I willingly knelt for coin, offered my mouth to be used for men’s satisfaction and—“

“It was not willing,” Yusuf said low. He jumped into the pool, heedless of his clothes. He faced Nicolo, fully, his face raw.

“If it was willing, would you be so haunted by faces you think you see?”

Nicolo wanted to sink back under the water.

“If it was willing, would your insides be so twisted you could not eat?”

Nicolo bit his lower lip.

“If it was willing, would your sleep be so bothered each night?”

Nicolo shook his head. He could not speak.

Yusuf cradled the back of Nicolo’s damp head. He dropped a kiss on top like a blessing.

“Perhaps it was easier to accept you did all this willingly than accept that you did not do this freely?”

Nicolo curled his hands around Yusuf’s wrists.

“It is still a debt I refuse to collect.” Nicolo squeezed Yusuf's wrists. "I am bothered by what they did and made me feel, but I am not bothered by my reason to do this."

Yusuf rested his forehead to Nicolo’s.

“You can not stop me from trying to repay you forever.”

Nicolo sniffed loudly. He heard Yusuf do the same.

“No,” Nicolo agreed sadly. “I can not.”

“I am not beholden to you because of it,” Yusuf told Nicolo. He threaded his fingers through Nicolo’s hair. “I am beholden to you because I hunger for every moment you gift my ravenous heart. I longed to make you happy far before this. This will not end us.”

“You and I,” Nicolo said. He tucked the words into his heart like a prayer. “I think of this to sustain me. It is payment enough.”

“You and I.” Yusuf repeated it. It felt like the clasp of hands, two halves of a vow. 

Yusuf bowed his head. “All right. Very well. No debt lies between us. No one else fouls the air between us. No pain. Only joy, _hobi_.”

“ _Hobi_ ,” Nicolo murmured. He deliberately mangled it and enjoyed how it made Yusuf groan dramatically about his poor ears.

Yusuf held Nicolo’s face in his hands. He gazed deep, silent yet his eyes spoke so much. Too much. Nicolo felt lightheaded under the intense stare.

“Ask me what you desire of me,” Nicolo murmured. He curled his hands tighter around Yusuf’s wrists. “Here. Now. I do not think I would refuse.”

“There is much I wish,” Yusuf rasped. “My heart is too greedy to think of merely one request. You absolved me of my obliviousness. You gifted me with the promise of forever. What more could I possibly want?”

Nicolo released Yusuf’s wrists. He stood up from the rock. His feet met the bottom of the water. He stood almost of height to Yusuf, his eyes drifting to Yusuf’s waist.

Yusuf choked. He cradled the back of Nicolo’s head, his eyes falling shut at the feel of Nicolo’s hands on the laces of his trousers. Sodden with water, they sank to the bottom. Yusuf stepped free of them. His eyes stayed on Nicolo even as he pulled his tunic over his ears. He watched, still without a word as Nicolo stepped out of his trousers as well.

They stood before each other, naked, trembling in the water.

It was not the first time they bared their bodies to each other or touch intimate parts with reverence. 

But it felt different, here in the water, staring at each other like it was the first time.

Yusuf reached over and cupped Nicolo’s jaw. He stepped closer, closer, until...

Nicolo gasped as their cocks brushed against each other in the water. He numbly looked down at themselves, flushing at the sight of their erect cocks so close. Even the coolness of the water was not enough to soothe the heat boiling under his skin on contact.

Yusuf murmured, words that failed to have meaning in Nicolo’s buzzing ears. He massaged Nicolo’s nape, his other hand threading with Nicolo’s. He guided their hands down.

The water burbled around them, drowned out by Yusuf’s groan as their hands wrapped around their cocks and held tight.

Nicolo’s head fell forward, rocking left and right across the lightly matted hair of Yusuf’s chest. 

The pace was firmer than the tentative ones of before. It felt like they were standing as one on a battlefield once again, but together, their hearts pounding in unison, their limbs moving in sync.

Yusuf’s hand was large, guiding Nicolo’s over their lengths with a sway and pull motion. 

Nicolo stuttered against Yusuf’s chest. It felt too much. Yet it also felt like it was not enough. He did not understand.

Nicolo must have been talking out loud, babbling as he shook against Yusuf. 

“It is same for me.” Yusuf was barely coherent, yet he fought to talk in soothing tones by Nicolo’s ear. “The more we have this, the more I crave.”

“Yu...” Nicolo could barely speak. He found himself in a frenzy, his hips snapping wildly into their combined hands. “I...Yus...”

Yusuf shushed Nicolo, kissing his brow over and over. His pace quickened, their strokes swept up the entire length without pause.

Water splashed around them. The sun was hot on Nicolo’s shoulders. Yet they both trembled as if cold, incoherent because their teeth clacked together when their mouths were crushed together.

Nicolo sobbed as he came, folding into Yusuf as Yusuf groaned his own release. Nicolo’s hands ran over Yusuf’s body, boldly feeling the shape of Yusuf’s clenched ass cheeks. He was desperate to memorize this moment. He did not trust his current mind to remember. He was in a haze, writhing against Yusuf in the water.

“Please,” Nicolo gasped as he pulled Yusuf’s mouth to his once more. “Please...”

“What?” Yusuf seemed to be in a similar state. His broad hands cupped Nicolo’s buttocks. He lifted Nicolo higher in the water, his cock grinding eagerly over the inside of Nicolo’s thigh.

“I do not know.” Nicolo wanted to shout in frustration. “I...what can I do? How...I feel...” Nicolo burrowed his heated face into the crook of Yusuf’s neck. 

“Please...” Nicolo cracked. “I do not know what I want, but I do. I feel madness. Yusuf...Yusuf...”

Yusuf smoothed his hand over Nicolo’s back over and over. He kissed Nicolo’s ear, his hand drifting, fingers brushing over his taint.

Yes. The strange fluttering in his hole. Nicolo gulped. He pressed his face harder into Yusuf’s shoulder.

“ _Hobi_ ,” Yusuf said hoarsely. He continued to stroke the puckered entrance with a careful finger.

“We have eternity. We have time. I can wait. I can do nothing. Or everything. You teach me what you desire. It is whenever you feel ready.”

Yusuf’s finger traced the shape of Nicolo’s taint, slipping in to massage the thin skin in between his ass cheeks.

Nicolo felt like he was burned alive. The touch felt intimate, bold despite the gentleness. His skin felt tight around him, itchy in a way not like before, aching in a way that made him flush all over.

“You and I,” Nicolo sighed. He leaned back into Yusuf’s finger.

Yusuf’s breath stuttered against Nicolo as his fingertip pressed in, just enough for them both to feel the natural resistance of Nicolo’s body. Nicolo groaned under his breath.

“You and I,” Yusuf echoed. He wrapped an arm around Nicolo’s middle, his other hand slipping, seeking...

Yusuf’s finger felt thick, large as it pushed. Nicolo’s hole spasm and after some pressure, yielded to the strange intrusion.

Nicolo’s exhale stalled, his words broken as he felt an odd stretch within, a filling that made him widen his stance. It did not ease the strangeness in him, but...

“It does not hurt.” Nicolo could hear himself wondering. He cringed. How stupid he must sound.

Yusuf choked back what sounded like a sob. “No, it should not. Never. Not for you. Not for us.”

“He...he said—“

“He was wrong,” Yusuf said hotly. He twisted his finger, slipping deeper, bending it and—Oh.

Nicolo bucked against Yusuf, into the finger that sparked something deep. He felt like his body flared at the clever turn of Yusuf’s finger. He was spinning. He was tipping into a cliff...

Yusuf caught Nicolo, his finger slipping in and out of Nicolo’s body with almost brazen claim. Nicolo writhed, babbling as it felt like Yusuf was touching something soul deep, endless waves of shock as Yusuf’s finger found the spot over and over.

“Oh,” Nicolo choked, “Oh...” He felt drunk. He felt consumed. He nearly knocked them together under the water, thrashing as he struggled to understand why he wanted to scream his release.

It was Yusuf who later screamed, thunder by Nicolo’s ears. His cock was hard against Nicolo’s hip. His finger became a sly two, an impossible fullness Nicolo grew frantic around. Yusuf chanted Nicolo’s name, as fervent as a prayer, his eyes closed in exaltation, his hand, his hand...

They came together, the water around them crashing like stormy seas. Yusuf cried out, hoarse, weeping as Nicolo greedily wrapped hands around him and finished his completion. Nicolo clung to Yusuf, his legs suddenly weak, as Yusuf’s two fingers darted into Nicolo and tugged out a release that darkened the skies for a breath.

The sun dried their bodies as they laid on the grass. It was too far to the house. Too far to the fig trees. They stayed curled towards each other by the stream, winded, spent and amazed.

Nicolo nuzzled the hair on Yusuf’s chest. They sprang up in tight curls as they dried, as intriguing and as soft as the crown of curls on Yusuf's head. They were long enough Yusuf tied them back with a thin strip of leather. Nicolo wanted to dig his fingers into the thick hair. For once, he did not cringe at the thought.

Yusuf rested his head back on folded arms. He gazed up at the sky. He grunted.

“What?” Nicolo said drowsily. He wiggled closer, his lax sex brushing along the firm planes of Yusuf’s stomach and the sharp dark hairs that feathered Yusuf's legs. Oh, he liked that as well.

“If only the days are longer,” Yusuf murmured, dreamily. “So that I may lay here in the sun with you, golden light painting your body. Look, the sun is setting and I mourn the shadows it will cast and shield you from my eyes.”

Nicolo shook his head. “You and your pretty words.”

“Me and my pretty words,” Yusuf agreed. “I have but these and my imaginative cooking to offer.”

“...at least your words are nice to hear.”

Nicolo yelped when Yusuf growled, twisting around to pin Nicolo underneath him. Yusuf ran his teeth lightly on Nicolo's collarbones. Nicolo moaned.

"That is nice to hear as well," Yusuf rumbled. "But your sharp bones hurt me to the quick. You have better eat every drop of my imaginative cooking later.”

Nicolo gazed up at Yusuf. He huffed, reaching up to brush back the damp curls from Yusuf’s brow. He knew Yusuf read the promise that he would try.

Yusuf’s mock scowl gentled. 

“And how are you feeling?”

Nicolo’s eyes burned. 

“Hungry.” Nicolo’s smile was shaky, but genuine. “Even for your cooking.”

Yusuf's smile was warm and blinding as he dipped his head to kiss.


	21. (Yusuf) - Somewhere outside of Alexandria, 12th century

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: a scene contains rough sex, bordering first on dub-con starting in the middle of the chapter

“What are you doing?”

Yusuf looked up from one of the planks of wood he bartered in the village. They were too soft, most likely from a shipwreck rather than as the man had claimed was stock from the North. Pity. But Yusuf did not need much, though he made himself a reminder not to trade with him again.

Frowning at the wood, Yusuf tried to see the problem. 

“Your pallet only bore enough wood to build the two stools.” Yusuf gestured to the pieces stacked under the window for the sun to dry. He was proud of them despite one creaked ominously each time one of them walked by. It was worth the effort though because of the eyebrow Nicolo favored the seat every time. It was a delightful look.

“Wood?” Nicolo repeated. 

“The fisherman from North? He traded wood for the figs we brought into the village last week.” Yusuf gestured to the planks. “Rejoice, I will repair our table at last.”

Nicolo frowned mildly. He pushed back the hair from his face. The leather tie he favored had snapped into two yesterday.

“No,” Nicolo said slowly. “I mean what are you doing with this?”

Nicolo pointed to the longsword on the table, the tin of polish and the sharpening stone besides it.

Ah. Yusuf grimaced. He did not think Nicolo would return so soon from checking the nets upstream.

“My scimitar grows dull,” Yusuf said quietly. “I thought I would sharpen yours as well.”

Nicolo stared at the sword, his expression worryingly blank.

“It is no bother,” Yusuf said. “I am happy to do it. It needs a good polish.” It has been two months since Cairo, since Nicolo carried his sword. He refused to go into the village with it, insisting the dagger Yusuf gave him was enough.

Nicolo nodded curtly. He sat down on the pallet they now share, pushed up to the back wall, facing their door. Nicolo crammed himself into the corner made by the back wall and the other, his legs stretched out by Yusuf’s hip.

Yusuf patted Nicolo’s closest ankle and continued to scrape the plank smooth in the way a fisherman was kind enough to show him.

Outside, their horse nickered. A few chickens chirped as they pecked for the feed Nicolo sprinkled on the ground. Nicolo was right: the rooster was appallingly loud every morning. Nicolo pointed out it could not be so bad because Yusuf slept through the first grating crow, only waking when Nicolo squirmed out of his arms to chase the rooster away from their door.

Pale yellow wooden curls fluttered by Yusuf’s feet, the rasp of wood a harsh contrast to the silence that hung over them. 

“The nets were empty when I checked.”

Nicolo’s voice was careful, but Yusuf caught the thread of anxiety underneath the level timbre. 

“It is fine,” Yusuf said, remembering too late how Nicolo would respond.

“I know,” Nicolo snapped. The foot by Yusuf twitched. He exhaled slowly to keep it steady. “I know it is fine.”

“Tomorrow,” Yusuf murmured. “Many will have returned from the ports in Alexandria. They always look for someone to read and write letters.”

Nicolo grunted. His feet shifted again, brushing closer against Yusuf’s hip.

“Tomorrow?” Yusuf asked as he held up the plank and examined it critically. “We could go to the village tomorrow. And we can see what we can barter.”

Yusuf held back the remark that Nicolo preserved enough fish to last two winters. They set traps nearby and caught small creatures as well. Yusuf cleaned them to sell the hides and Nicolo cut the meat into careful portions to salt and store. The wild fig trees by the stream bore jars of figs that they bartered to preserve and spiced in exchange for half the crop. And the melons’ first winding vine has burst through the rich soil.

There was enough food, even if the women they still dreamed about were to show up today. There was enough stores. They would not starve. There was enough to trade or sell for coin as well.

But Yusuf knew how anxious Nicolo became as coin after coin was spent on necessary things. Not that Nicolo agreed a thick cloak for Nicolo’s still thin frame was necessary. Or the warmer tunic for the coming winter. 

Nicolo did not deem them necessary but protested little, pretending it did not bother him.

But Nicolo watched and Yusuf knew, Nicolo secretly worried. Nicolo refused to spend, refused to believe their fortunes were lasting and no one would be forced to their knees.

How long did Nicolo worry in Cairo before he was caught in Dirar's snare? How long did Nicolo watch their dwindling funds and quietly fret under Yusuf's oblivious eye?

Yusuf’s eyes burned. He kept his chin down so the afternoon light would not catch the suspicious glimmer in his eyes.

No, they agreed. There was no debt between them, but Yusuf's heart still wept at the sum wrought on Nicolo's soul.

“Tomorrow,” Nicolo said quietly in agreement. He paused. 

“The last two skins are stretched. They are ready. You...you could bring them as well.”

You, not we. Yusuf swallowed back a sigh. Sadly, he was not surprised. They went together last week. It was too soon for Nicolo to tolerate another visit.

Yusuf reached behind him, curling his hand around the top of Nicolo’s foot.

“Good idea,” Yusuf murmured. He wanted to ask if Nicolo wanted anything, but Nicolo would only say no. 

“You would be fine to go alone?” Nicolo sounded hesitant. 

“Of course,” Yusuf replied, but his chest did an odd seize as if squeezing his heart. He kneaded Nicolo’s foot as he brushed the shavings off the wood with his other hand. “I have gone to the village on my own before and made it home despite that horse’s attempts to leave me behind.”

Nicolo’s foot flex within Yusuf’s grip. Nicolo watched Yusuf’s back.

“In the beginning,” Nicolo agreed. His voice wavered. “While I cowered in here, you were left to take care of everyt—“

Yusuf twisted around. He pulled Nicolo by the ankles, himself squirming until Nicolo’s legs were over Yusuf’s thighs, his head hugged tight under Yusuf’s arm.

“You smell,” Nicolo complained. The effort to get away, however, was half-hearted at best.

“This,” Yusuf said fondly, “from a man who did not appreciate the benefits of a bath every day. The memory of the first few weeks we traveled together were clouded in the haze of your unwashed odor.”

Nicolo huffed, grumbling under his breath.

Yusuf kissed the top of Nicolo’s head.

“You were not cowering,” Yusuf said seriously. “We were resting. And you here hastened my feet home every time. It made the walk back less a chore every time that miserable horse left me.”

Nicolo slipped an arm around Yusuf’s middle. He settled an ear over Yusuf's heart. He listened. And sighed.

“We have enough stores,” Nicolo said out loud. His head shifted to look at the other wall where the rows of jars stacked two high and two deep. It was the coolest spot.

“We are fine,” Yusuf agreed. “But tomorrow, I will see in the village.” 

“There are a few things we need if...if the price is fair,” Nicolo replied. After a pause, he added, “I did not mean to imply we were lacking.”

Yusuf stroked the top of Nicolo’s knee over his thighs.

“Pray the horse is agreeable tomorrow,” Yusuf murmured. “I do not wish to walk to the village on foot again.”

Nicolo huffed. The smile was audible in his voice. 

“The horse may be more agreeable when called a name other than ‘wretched beast’ or ‘foul animal.’ It would not abandon you on sight then.”

“Bah,” Yusuf grumbled. “I offered it a name but it did not like it.”

“Deranged four legged demon is not a name.”

“You are a cruel man,” Yusuf groaned.

Nicolo’s eyebrow arched high, his only comment as he pulled his threadbare linen tunic over his head. His hair was long enough to skim his shoulders as they fell, inviting Yusuf’s fingers to run through the brown locks again. He wanted to offer to braid the back like how he knotted his curls, but he worried how Nicolo would react if Yusuf tugged too hard by mistake.

Yusuf sat heavily on their pallet and watched Nicolo step out of his trousers, pale round buttocks flexing.

“I would not need a bath so early and so soon if you did not leave me a mess this morning when we woke up,” Nicolo said, perfectly reasonable despite standing naked by his clothes.

Yusuf grinned. There was something primal, a well of pride in his chest when he murmured, “I was not the one who made the mess between your lovely legs, _hobi_.”

Nicolo flushed, a pink all over his skin. Yusuf wanted to leap off the pallet and take Nicolo in hand and encourage another mess.

Yusuf’s thoughts must have been clear on his face. Nicolo took a step back out of reach.

Yusuf held up his hands. “To the village, go I.” He eyed Nicolo slowly, his lips curling as the faint pink flushed darker at the slender, long cock.

Nicolo pulled his soiled clothes and held them in front of him.

Yusuf glared at Nicolo. “I question why you must disrobe in front of me when the stream is far away. Would it not be better to undress there?”

"I do not wish to wear dirty clothing after I bathed." Nicolo shrugged, lifting his broad shoulders, stretching his torso, taunting Yusuf with a glimpse of narrow hips.

“Perhaps I should accompany you to the stream,” Yusuf muttered. He studied the line of Nicolo’s collarbones. He had left bruising kisses on the elegant wings, but the marks faded. All that speckled the fair skin (even the pink was fading) were the yellow-white spots of Nicolo’s release. 

What a wondrous morning it was. The feel of Nicolo writhing within his arms, shouting as he came untouched, Yusuf was alert far before the rooster perched on their window.

“No,” Nicolo said, but his voice cracked. He glowered at Yusuf. He held the clothes higher to cover the pink cock stirring under Yusuf’s heated gaze.

“I wish you good fortune in the village,” Nicolo offered primly as he walked backwards towards the door.

Ah yes, the village. Yusuf forced his smile to stay on his face. 

“I shall miss you,” Yusuf blurted before he could think wiser. He stayed on the pallet, his eyes on Nicolo as the other retreated further out of his reach.

Nicolo’s steps stuttered. He stood under the door, suddenly looking uncertain.

“Go.” Yusuf waved Nicolo off. “Torture me no more with your lovely body before I make a mess of the both of us there on the doorway.”

Nicolo looked at the doorway, perplexed.

“How would that be possible?” Nicolo said blankly. He considered the door. “If we were to do anything standing up, how would that work? Would we need to both be—“

“Go!” Yusuf yelped, laughing helplessly. He tossed the cushion at Nicolo. “Before I show you!”

“Do not run off,” Yusuf warned the beast as he tied the reins to the post. 

The horse snorted.

“I mean it. I do not wish to delay my return.” Yusuf leaned in and glared at the horse. “You should show gratitude. If it were not for Nicolo and I, you would still be pulling carts for those wretched men.”

The horse huffed, its foul breath ruffling Yusuf’s beard, but its pointy ears twitched at his words.

“Ah,” Yusuf murmured, “I would not wish such a fate even on a mangy beast like you.” He patted the horse’s nose.

The beast tried to kick him in the balls.

Yusuf leapt back with a growl. He pretended to bow as some watched, chuckling. It was a good opportunity to cultivate friendly relations, perhaps find an amicable ear that may hear of work. But the back of his neck itched. It has itched since he rode away from their home. 

No, Yusuf told himself. This will not do.

Yusuf hoisted the rolled hides under his arm. He took a deep breath and took a step forward, determined to seek fortunes in this village as soon as possible. Nicolo waited.

Yusuf’s nape itched hotter with each step into the village.

It was a silver coin.

Yusuf stared at the coin in his palm. It felt slimy. It left the hand of a fish merchant and slipped on to Yusuf’s palm before Yusuf agreed to anything.

There was a buzzing in his ears, louder as the reed thin merchant continued. The man spoke lingua franca, his words deep with the tones that hinted he shared the same homeland with Nicolo. 

But Yusuf did not hear him. The coin in his hand seemed to shriek like the harpies he learned about in the libraries of Damascus. Dirar sneered and beyond Yusuf's reach, Nicolo huddled to the ground and retched blood.

“...Cairo...your friend—“

The coin fell to the mud as Yusuf shoved his elbow under the merchant’s chin. He pushed the man to a pole of the stall selling spices. It rattled. The trader in the stall shouted. The merchant squeaked.

And the words finally made sense.

“...I do not know the language and they said you and your friend did. It is only a short trip with my caravan and I would gladly fund your return back from Cairo. P-please, I mean no offense.”

Yusuf grimaced. He lowered his arm and took a step back.

The fish merchant appeared to rely on the post to keep him upright. 

Yusuf bent down and picked up the coin. He polished the currency against his cloak, again and again until his hand was steady again.

“Thank you,” Yusuf said pleasantly enough, “But we are not interested. I bid you good day.”

Yusuf felt the merchant gaping at him, others already walking away uninterested as it did not lead to anything interesting.

Yusuf bowed his head and turned sharply on his heels. 

He did not remember he left the purchased spices until he reached the horse.

The horse never ran so fast. 

It had nickered when Yusuf slung his purchases over and then himself. It did not stamp its hooves, ears twitching when Yusuf bent low to its ears and urgently muttered, “To Nicolo. Nicolo. Now.”

The horse pounded the grass, cut through shrubs, leapt over fallen trees. It barely panted as it skidded to the familiar grounds of their home.

“Nicolo,” Yusuf shouted as he leapt off the horse far too soon than his knees were ready. He heard a crack, felt a throb, but the knees healed by the time he tugged his baskets off the horse, swat its rump in thanks and staggered to the house.

The itch on his neck has spread to his shoulders by the time he stumbled into the house and found it empty.

“Nicolo!” Yusuf could hear himself, the panic pounding in his throat. It had fueled his feet from Aziz’s stall, shore his strength as he lashed out his scimitar on Dirar’s ship. He was almost too late. No, he _was_ too late.

“Nicolo!” Yusuf dropped their wares. Dimly, he thought he heard something crack among them, but he was too dizzy from the roaring in his ears to notice.

Where was he? Where was Nicolo? Where did Nicolo go as soon as his head bent over those manuscripts?

Yusuf staggered out, his eyes landing on the stream far away. In the distance, he saw him.

Yusuf’s mouth moved, shaping Nicolo’s name. He pushed off from the door and ran.

Nicolo’s expression went from surprise to worry as soon as Yusuf reached him.

“What it is? What is wrong?” Nicolo lowered the net in his hands. “Did something happen in the village—“

Yusuf did not let Nicolo finish. He wrapped his arms around Nicolo’s middle, his mouth covering Nicolo's gasp. He kissed Nicolo, hard, his tongue darting in to check Nicolo's mouth, count his teeth, taste his breath. His hands roamed, counting ribs (his dear _hobi_ is still too thin), kneading his buttocks, checking his lean, spare form for hurts.

"Yus—What, wait..."

Nicolo panted as soon as Yusuf pulled back, but it was short-lived. Yusuf only paused for breath, to check the grass by their feet was soft, before he tumbled them both to the grass. He straddled Nicolo's legs, panting as he tried to explain, to speak, anything, but his ears were filled with the pounding of his heart, his mouth numb without the taste of Nicolo's skin on his lips.

Yusuf heard himself, talking rapidly, frantically in Arabic, too fast for Nicolo to catch, but Nicolo seemed to understand Yusuf's need. He stopped asking, his low rolling timbre now murmuring soothingly into Yusuf's ears. He helped Yusuf tug down his own trousers, kept his large hands careful in Yusuf's hair, trembling and moaning as Yusuf kissed his filling cock before swallowing him whole.

The memory of a cock on his tongue was vague; a filament of memory of a time when Yusuf had likened misspent youth to immortality. But what Yusuf barely recalled, his senses seemed to remember. The taste and weight of Nicolo's cock in his mouth guided him on what to do.

Yusuf's thumbs massaged circles inside the pitch of Nicolo's hipbones, over and over on the vulnerable skin there. His head pulled back, savoring the saltiness of the cock head, his rough tongue laving the bead of fluid gathering at the tip. His chin, his beard was damp with sweat, clumped with the saliva gathering in his mouth. His knees gripped Nicolo's legs between them. He would not be torn from Nicolo's side.

Nicolo's words crumbled to broken off cries, soft startled chokes that followed with the arch of his body. His fingers dug into Yusuf's scalp. His knees jerked up, his heels digging into the dirt as Yusuf tightened his lips at the base.

"Uh," Nicolo cried out. "Yu...uh..."

Hot silk on his tongue. Sweat trickling into his eyes. A rapid pulse against the pads of his thumbs. Yusuf sucked hard, his tongue tracing the vein that throbbed down the length, his mouth squeezing the length as his cheeks hollowed. He felt Nicolo's cries more than he heard them. Nicolo was close.

Yusuf shoved a hand down his own trousers, snapping the laces in the process. He palmed his painful erection, groaning around Nicolo's sex.

Nicolo whimpered, his hips jerking in tiny desperate thrusts. He pried his hands off Yusuf's head and jammed pale fists towards his own pelvis to stop.

"Yus...I...I..." Nicolo sobbed.

Yusuf's head bobbed faster, his dry fist around his cock matching pace, not to be out done.

Nicolo's voice rose to a wail, his hands trying to push Yusuf's head away in warning, but with a violent shudder, Nicolo came.

Bitter fluid splashed the back of Yusuf's throat. He swallowed as much as he could before light flared behind his eyes and he pulled off of Nicolo's spent cock to groan out his own release. It felt endless, pulling the fevered thrum in the pit of Yusuf's stomach and out through his cock.

Yusuf dropped his head on Nicolo's thigh. Winded, dizzy with the force of his release, Yusuf almost missed the frantic breathing above him.

A chill went over Yusuf. Reasoning returned and horror paralyzed Yusuf. He did not move, his own breathing matching Nicolo before he crawled up Nicolo's body on clumsy hands and knees.

Nicolo was incoherent.

"I tried to warn you," Nicolo cracked. "I did not mean to...I was not fast enough—I am sorry, sorry..."

Yusuf's eyes widened as Nicolo's panic dawned on him. He tugged Nicolo up, kissing Nicolo's brow, his mouth, his jaw.

"No," Yusuf plead. He hunched over Nicolo. "It is all right. No, I did not mind it. It was you, Nicolo, I did not mind it."

Nicolo clutched Yusuf's arms, gasping for breath. His bare legs kicked weakly in the grass, his tunic bunched under his arms. But he was calming, still shaking against Yusuf, but calming.

"...you swallowed."

Yusuf squeezed his eyes shut. Of course Nicolo was upset for Yusuf instead of what Yusuf had done.

"I swallowed," Yusuf rasped. "Why are you not upset I attacked you?"

Nicolo settled into Yusuf. His claw grip gentled to calming strokes down Yusuf's arms.

"I did not feel attacked," Nicolo murmured. "And you needed it."

Yusuf bowed his head. His shoulders shook.

"I did not see you in the house," Yusuf whispered. He hugged Nicolo tighter to him. "And I did not see you in the village and I thought of all the times I did not see you, all the times you said you were fine and I believed you and what I left you to bear alone..."

Yusuf could not finish. He pressed his wet face on top of Nicolo's head.

"Forgive me, _hobi_ ," Yusuf murmured. "I know we said there is no debt, but my heart still pains and then I did not see you in the village and the house. Oh, I am being a fool, my Nicolo, I should not have been so rough, I...I...forgive me, forgive me..."

Nicolo wrapped a hand around Yusuf's wrist and pulled it to his belly.

"You forgave me for many things," Nicolo rasped. "How petty would I be if I do not forgive you even if your only crime was to think so well of me?"

Yusuf has no words. He simply held tight to Nicolo and wept.


	22. (Nicolo) - Somewhere outside of Alexandria, 12th century

It is fine.

Nicolo smiled faintly at the bread maker, Kahima, chattering away by his ear. He took care to balance the sack of grain on the opposite shoulder, away from the stooped back woman. She kept hooking a finger on his sleeve when the ground was too rocky. He walked slowly so she would not stumble.

The village was unusually busy today. A storm at sea has stranded ships in Alexandria, leaving bored men at port with coin to spend. They filled the often empty turns and corners with faces Nicolo did not know.

Yusuf had balked when they rode into the village with the skins Yusuf never sold. He wanted to turn back and Nicolo wanted to agree. But it has been a week with Yusuf brooding by the stream and fig trees. Yusuf avoided staying too close during the day, only to clutch Nicolo so desperately in sleep.

Nicolo knew they could not allow this to continue. He could not let Yusuf suffer like this.

It was strange to be the one trying to carry conversation. Yusuf always made the ordinary sound exciting. Nicolo winced each time he tried. And sometimes he trailed off without realizing it because of a face, a breeze in his hair or the way the sun heated his skin wrong.

Yusuf smiled at each attempt. He would reach for Nicolo, stopping until Nicolo blinked back to awareness. He would cup Nicolo’s jaw, murmured sadly he was all right, do not fret, Nicolo.

Yusuf looked surprised this morning when Nicolo said he needed things from the village. Nicolo almost retracted his request, his own heart racing at the thought of going back so soon.

With a pang, Nicolo recalled Yusuf lingering by Nicolo when he spoke with Kahima: labor for days old loaves she could not sell. Yusuf looked hesitant as Nicolo prodded him towards the direction the baker pointed out. A merchant was asking for someone to help write a letter of credit in Greek. Nicolo felt guilty about the way he nudged Yusuf away, promising he would be fine and would wait for Yusuf by the baker’s house. But he wanted to call Yusuf back as he watched Yusuf walk away.

It is fine. It is fine.

Nicolo’s throat worked as he walked cautiously with the sack of grain. He nodded, his lingua franca now unfamiliar after many years talking Arabic and Greek with Yusuf. But he caught words about her roof, helping her son Izem, who was unexpectedly home from the sea. He nodded at whatever price she offered.

The coin was not a concern, he kept telling himself. But it will keep him busy as he wait for Yusuf. It will distract him from trying to pick out familiar faces out of strangers.

It is fine. It is fine.

The repairs was hard work and reminded Nicolo why Yusuf was at first hesitant about Nicolo’s chosen tasks. Nicolo still tired too easily and his limbs shook too soon.

But it was honest work. It was work that only left him tired, not numb.

Nicolo grimaced, wiping the back of his hand over his brow. He was surprised to pull his hand away wet with blood. Ah, the roof.

Izem was an awkward thin limbed young man. He studied Nicolo when he and Kahima returned to the house, but greeted Nicolo friendly enough after some hesitation. Unfortunately, the youth appeared to be clumsy on land, too light footed for ground that no longer bobbed with the seas. Izem also knocked on brick too hard. Shards of mud brick rained from the roof and on top of Nicolo without warning. He hunched over the baker, shielding her. It earned him her thanks and the loaf of rosemary bread she insisted on making fresh.

“You do good work.” The baker’s son emerged from the house. He rubbed the sparse dark whiskers on his chin as he considered Nicolo. Despite the roundness of his cheeks, the youth bore a disturbing resemblance to a merchant, albeit decades younger, but with the same gleam in his eyes.

It is fine. It is fine.

“Thank you,” Nicolo said politely. He paused at the coins the son held out in his palm.

Nicolo’s chest felt too small for his heart.

“That is not the price we agreed,” Nicolo said evenly. He did not reach out for the coins. “This is more than we discussed.”

“Payment for something more,” the son replied and he smiled.

Nicolo’s knees locked. His stomach clenched. His ears roared, filled with echoes, jeers, and the sound of himself choking.

“...the cart.”

Nicolo blinked, still reeling from the sharp catch in his chest. He stared stupidly at Izem before the words reassembled.

“Ah,” Nicolo could only say. With effort, he added, “The cart?”

The son’s smile turned embarrassed and it struck Nicolo how young the man, no, the boy was.

“My legs are too used to the seas and my hands are too used to the ships' ropes. I tried to repair mother’s cart, but I fear it is worse now. Jah told me how you fixed his harness and I hoped—“

“Of course. Gladly. I—We could return tomorrow to do this. Is that agreeable?” Nicolo fumbled. "Still, this coin. We could not accept this."

The young son appeared troubled. "It is all the coin we have."

"All the more why we can not accept." Nicolo moved to push the hand away but balked. He could not help it.

"It is fine," Nicolo stammered. "Your mother gives us bread. It is generous enough. Keep your coin. Please."

Izem nodded. He canted his head, considering Nicolo.

“Or,” the boy said slowly, “you could repair the cart today and...” The boy’s smile turned hesitant, shy. “You could stay the night if it gets late. I...I have a room.”

Nicolo stared at the boy blankly. Did he not say tomorrow? Did he misunderstood the urgency?

"If it...that is...if it pleases you." The son’s eyes drifted down, back up to Nicolo’s face and then, flushed.

...Oh.

Nicolo grew hot as well. He heard himself, his words clumsy as he repeated he would be back tomorrow. With Yusuf, Nicolo stressed with too much force. He will return with Yusuf.

The son must have realized he misread Nicolo as he too began to stammer, of course, of course, he has been a help, his mother sang Nicolo's praises.

During the awkward exchange, the coins dropped between their feet.

The boy's apologies were louder than the echoes in Nicolo's head as he dropped down to a knee to pick up the coins, while reassuring the son he did not take offense. From the ground, Nicolo tilted his head up to offer a smile that would hopefully calm the son's babbling to something they could both understand. He blinked when he realized Izem has stopped talking and looking past Nicolo's shoulder with round eyes.

Nicolo looked behind him. He froze.

Yusuf stood at the dirt path that cut into the village. He stared at them, at Nicolo, his hand on the hilt of his scimitar. His face bore thunder. And he stared at Nicolo, his lips white underneath his beard.

Nicolo's throat squeezed as he realized how he must look. His face went unbearably hot. He had feared the same moments before. And now Yusuf looked as he did back then, his eyes full of rage as he glared at Dirar. Only Yusuf was not looking at Dirar now. He...was he looking at Nicolo? At the boy?

Nicolo did not want to know the answer. He feared it would be one he will not like.

Stuttering, his lingua switching to Arabic at parts, Nicolo spilled the collected coins into the speechless son's hand and escaped. He was not sure if he heard Yusuf calling him. He did not dare check.

He was being a coward again.

Nicolo's feet stuttered as he stared blankly at the road he was on. It was a tread worn path, the only one that led from their house and to the village. He took it without thought, fled to the one route he knew in his bones: back to Yusuf, to their house.

Nicolo covered his mouth with a hand. He breathed through his nose, but the clench in his throat, the urge to vomit was overwhelming. He squeezed his eyes tight, continued to breathe.

_You and I. You and I._

It was to this mantra Nicolo began to walk again.

_You..._

His left foot stepped forward.

_...and I._

His right foot advanced next.

Left right left right. His steps accompanied the words in his mind. 

_You..._

Left foot.

_...and I._

Right foot.

After a few steps, Nicolo realized there was an odd echo behind him; a shuffle of boots matching his stride and the clops of hooves after.

Nicolo did not turn around. He gulped and continued walking. His neck ached where his head hung low. His lower back twinge trying to stay hunched for so long.

_You..._

Left foot. Behind him, another left foot.

_...and I._

Right foot. Behind him, another right foot.

Nicolo's eyes burned. Will his shadow not speak? Did his attempt to help backfire? Was the silence all that is left for the remainder of their eternity? Did he ruin everything again?

Nicolo's arms wrapped around his middle, a hand still clamped over his mouth. He kept walking, his shadow kept following and the sun kept burning on top of his head.

_"I also paid you—"_

_Nononono..._

Nicolo stopped. His breathing hitched. He could not see. The ground blurred as if it would dissolve under his feet.

An arm slipped over his shoulders.

It was Nicolo's undoing. His breathing stuttered and he could not stop the thin sound that spilled out.

" _Hobi_ ," Yusuf murmured and he was there, next to him, touching Nicolo.

"I...I did not..." Nicolo hiccupped, the words refused to come out. "I-I did not, I swear, I would not do t-that to you again, I promise on my soul, I would not, no..."

Yusuf wrapped his other arm around Nicolo, tugging him to his chest.

Nicolo missed this. He missed how Yusuf's steady heartbeat could lull his to do the same. He missed how soft Yusuf's beard tickled his brow. He missed how Yusuf's arms felt like they wrapped around him a thousand times, stronger than any shield or armor. He missed...he missed...

"Come back," Nicolo choked. He would not cry, but his eyes would not stop burning. "Please, come back, come back..."

"I am here. Sh, Nicolo, I never left."

Yusuf shushed Nicolo as he tugged Nicolo closer, crushing their bodies close, forcing their lungs to push out their air. Yusuf panted like Nicolo. He sounded tearful like he did before days ago and Nicolo did that, this was his doing, he should do better, why did he not cope better, why did he not help Yusuf?

"No, no," Yusuf murmured. He swayed where they stood. "You did nothing wrong. You tried. I was lost in my own dark sorrow and you were like a moon and tried to shine the way back for me, but I was too content to wallow in self-pity to look up and see."

Nicolo wanted to disagree. Or tell Yusuf he did the same for Nicolo, but he could not find the words. He choked on the pathetic sounds that kept spilling out.

"I know you were not. I know. I saw you there and felt rage, but for myself, for what I thought was my failure again. My anger was for that, not for what you were forced to do. Never." Yusuf kissed Nicolo's brow.

"Peace, my Nicolo. Feel peace, not fury from me. I am sorry I have been distant. No more. I will do better for you."

Nicolo took a steadying breath but did not pull away from Yusuf's offered haven. 

"I was once told," Nicolo said hoarsely, "That I should do better for myself."

"Ah." Yusuf rubbed Nicolo between his shoulders. "Good advice. Must be a wise man."

"...he has his moments."

Yusuf growled. He hugged Nicolo tighter and lifted him off his feet. Nicolo yelped. He elbowed Yusuf, or tried, Yusuf held tight as if determined to merge them together. But then a high neigh and Yusuf's outraged shout and suddenly Nicolo was free.

Nicolo blinked at the sight of Yusuf wagging a finger at the horse.

"It tried to bite me!"

"Where?" Nicolo's eyebrow rose when the horse demonstrated again.

Yusuf leapt back, a hand reaching behind to shield himself from harm.

"Why did you not ride him?" Nicolo patted the horse. It bumped its nose against Nicolo's shoulder and nickered.

"The mangy beast would not let me—ah, ah, not again!" Yusuf dodged the snap of teeth. "I was left no choice but to use it like a pack horse and walk home to you."

Nicolo's throat worked. "Oh. Shall we walk home together then?"

Yusuf stopped darting around the horse. He smiled at Nicolo, a shade of his old cheer, but as warm and reassuring as before. 

"Yes." Yusuf stretched out a hand in offering.

"Let us go home together."

Nicolo wrapped his hand around Yusuf's forearm. Yusuf's hand curled around Nicolo's wrist. He pulled Nicolo against him, flipped one end of his cloak to cover them both.

"You and I," Yusuf murmured.

Nicolo, not trusting his voice, nodded.

And with the words in their hearts, they walked towards their home, their steps matching as they steered for home.


	23. (Yusuf) - Somewhere outside of Alexandria, 12th century

Nicolo forgave Yusuf easily. Far too easily.

Nicolo sat on the edge of their dug out pool, kicking water while he awkwardly shared his recount of the baker’s son. Nicolo professed he did not know the son was trying to flirt. In exchange, Yusuf admitted the panic he felt when he saw Nicolo’s face covered in blood.

“I was not expecting one to offer to do, um, that.” Nicolo flushed.

Yusuf chuckled. “I should buy a polished metal, so you may see.”

Nicolo shot Yusuf a puzzled frown.

Yusuf smirked. He flicked water towards Nicolo, tickled the feet dangling in the water. Nicolo scowled and pretended to kick Yusuf in the chin. He stopped when Yusuf threatened to pull him into the water for yet another bath.

With his unguarded smile, the small private one Nicolo only let Yusuf see, he stilled. He strangely murmured again how much he missed Yusuf despite Yusuf had not left his side. 

His defined cheeks, his bottomless dark eyes, Nicolo was a sculpture Yusuf remembered seeing as a boy clinging to his father’s robes. How luminous those marble statues were, chiseled myths who stood defiant and yet sincere in their bare forms. Like the stone art, it was humbling to bask under Nicolo’s gaze. It was intoxicating to know Nicolo’s regard was for him alone.

“I am never lost under your shadow,” Yusuf murmured as he waded over to stand before Nicolo. "And I fall uncontested under your spell." He patted Nicolo’s knees, palms cupping the flexing calves as Nicolo spread his legs; a temple inviting worship.

Yusuf’s hands skimmed up over Nicolo’s hips, anchoring himself as he nosed past the tender curls that concealed Nicolo’s sex. 

Yusuf told Nicolo he looked delectable. Nicolo was baffled, unsure what he meant.

Yusuf coaxed him to sit closer to the edge so he could show him. 

Nicolo’s knees brushed against Yusuf’s ears as they struggled to stay still draped over Yusuf’s shoulders. His large hands, long fingers that held his longsword with such strength, now fluttered helplessly on top of the grass because Yusuf dared him not to touch anything. Anything at all.

The water from the stream lapped around Yusuf’s torso. It was cool, but not enough to slake the overheated tightness all over his body.

And Nicolo’s cries. Oh, those soft, half-spoken sounds spilled out of his kiss swollen mouth. Music that lured like the stories of sirens, teasing Yusuf to take Nicolo deeper into his throat.

Nicolo was not hard at first, but his cock quickly became a beautiful weight on Yusuf’s tongue. Yusuf suckled, savored the salty tang of the flushed cock, grazing his teeth lightly down the length as his damp fingers slipped behind cheeks.

Those lovely cries rose to a fevered pitch as Nicolo felt the probing finger. He arched, remembered and struggled not to thrust into Yusuf’s mouth. He panted, his hole clenching around Yusuf’s finger.

The resistance was still there, but Nicolo’s body yielded around Yusuf’s first finger after only a few shallow strokes. Nicolo was incredibly tight inside even as his body accepted the second, prelude to Nicolo keening to the sure movements of Yusuf’s fingers.

Nicolo was hot around Yusuf’s fingers, slick from the stream, spasming around Yusuf with a rapid flutter that settled heavy between Yusuf’s legs. The hot clutch of Nicolo’s body sent Yusuf’s head spinning, his mouth watering as he pursed his lips and sucked.

“Yus...ah...I...I am c-close, ah, Yu—“

Yusuf’s fingers plunged deeper. It felt like he touched Nicolo’s heart. He twisted, spreading his fingers as his cheeks hollowed, bobbing his head rapidly so his beard brushed against sensitive skin.

Nicolo threw his head back and shouted into release. Yusuf’s name rose as high as any prayer to a deity, crumbling into breathless whimpers.

It was the sweetest sound Yusuf ever heard.

Yusuf let Nicolo’s cock slip out of his mouth while mourning the loss of the weight of Nicolo’s knees on his shoulders. Nicolo’s legs slipped off and floated briefly on either side of Yusuf. 

“You...you...” Nicolo could not speak.

“Yes, I did swallow and I do not regret.” Yusuf kissed the cock head, his tongue lapping the remaining weak stream. 

“Have I convinced you how delectable you are to me? I would gladly show you again. I am ravenous.”

Nicolo shivered. His legs jerked against Yusuf. Ah. Yusuf kissed the spent cock again, rubbing his cheeks on the fold of Nicolo’s hip. His fingers continued to pet the inside of Nicolo’s body, long lazy strokes until Nicolo whimpered he felt too much. He squirmed, confused, his eyes wide and dazed.

“It is fine. Your body feels sensitive,” Yusuf assured with a low rumble as he joined Nicolo out of the water. His knees straddled Nicolo’s torso. His mouth drew a line on the map of Nicolo’s damp body as he kissed his way up from Nicolo’s belly, to his nipples and finally Nicolo’s mouth. 

Yusuf parted his lips as they kissed, his tongue skimming over Nicolo’s shy one, inviting his heart to have a taste.

Nicolo’s hands swept over Yusuf’s back, curling a bit desperate on Yusuf’s shoulders, his legs parting more. He weakly arched up towards Yusuf and his neglected erection.

Yusuf hissed as Nicolo’s fingers wrapped around him. Hesitant at first, Nicolo’s pulls grew bolder under Yusuf’s groaned encouragement. 

Yusuf could not last long; he spilled onto Nicolo’s belly, splattering across Nicolo’s chest. And something in Yusuf wanted to howl in triumph and beat his chest.

Instead, Yusuf lazily rutted into Nicolo’s slicked stomach, his beard rubbing over Nicolo’s jaw as he dropped tiny kisses down the slope of Nicolo’s shoulders. He watched as Nicolo curiously touched the stains on his stomach.

Yusuf stopped Nicolo when the other lifted his glistening fingers to his mouth.

“Look,” Yusuf murmured. He lowered his head and wrapped his lips around Nicolo’s stained fingers.

Like with Nicolo’s cock, Yusuf took his time suckling the salty bitterness. He locked his eyes with Nicolo, who gazed up at him with open-mouthed wonderment.

Yusuf opened his mouth, letting Nicolo’s fingers slip out with a messy sound. And interesting, Nicolo’s throat worked. He lowered his head again, lower, lower...

“Now taste,” Yusuf whispered, a breath away from Nicolo’s mouth. “This is the taste of us.”

It was a different kiss, a tentative one, but not like their first one. There was no fear under Yusuf’s lips. Nicolo trembled as before, but with a thrum of curiosity and anticipation. Yusuf let his mouth relax, let Nicolo’s tongue slip in and explore, enjoy how Nicolo’s fingers curled around Yusuf’s elbows as if fearing Yusuf would pull away.

And then, it sank in. Nicolo’s panicked words on the road, his sad whispers in the pool, the way he clung to Yusuf with a strength often reserved for battle.

Yusuf truly has been away this week, in mind and heart. They shared a bed, but nothing more. Yusuf tried to wallow away from Nicolo, not infect him with his foul mood and he had went too far. He assured Nicolo he was here as he held a despairing Nicolo on that road. But was he really at all?

Nicolo’s kiss went deeper, harder as if he was trying to climb into Yusuf’s body to seek shelter. 

Yusuf had denied him and his explanations of his distance was pitiful. Nicolo needed someone to fight for him, to pull him out of his haunted memories. But instead, Yusuf sunk into his own.

No more.

Yusuf’s arm slipped around Nicolo’s shoulders, lifting him slightly, pressing their bodies close enough to feel each other’s hearts.

“I am here,” Yusuf promised. “I am here to fight alongside you, for you, never against you. Never again.” His mouth crushed against Nicolo’s. Their teeth bumped, the kiss too frantic from both of them to get the angle right. 

“Yusuf,” Nicolo groaned, a rough sound like a sob rattled in his chest. “This, this is my Yusuf...” He bucked, his hips rolling up in a fevered search.

“Yes,” Yusuf growled. His pelvis snapped into Nicolo, his cock ached again as it ran along Nicolo’s inner thigh, brushing under Nicolo’s balls as he allowed himself lay claim.

“Yours,” Yusuf rumbled as he thrust. His blood sang, the core of him pounded, the pressure building behind his eyes. 

“Yours, _hobi_. As you are mine.”

The words sound rough in Yusuf’s ears. They were never spoken out loud, his words were always tempered with care, to soothe. Yusuf thought he needed to be a gentle shepherd, guide his Nicolo through the vicious fields of vicious men and tend to his wounded soul.

But Nicolo was no lamb. And he was close again.

Nicolo tightened his grip on Yusuf’s shoulders, his body slamming back towards Yusuf. Blow for blow; sword to scimitar.

It will be time soon to claim his warrior.

Not here, not now, rutting against Nicolo, the grass drenched under their bodies. Their souls were freshly wounded and only just healed. Talk must be done. Action must be taken.

But soon.

Yusuf murmured heated promises of soft beds, sleek bodies and a primal dance between them. He promised bliss, endless endless pleasure that will spill over and fill the cracks in both their souls. He will be better: for himself, for Nicolo, for them together. And they would stand together whole and joyous.

"And we will celebrate forever within each other," Yusuf breathed.

Nicolo writhed, head thrown back as he came once more.

It felt natural and inevitable that Yusuf followed.

_The women clasped hands, clasped hearts and..._

Yusuf started awake. He eased his face back from Nicolo’s nape. He blinked.

“Did you see them too?”

Nicolo sounded far more awake than Yusuf. He was still within Yusuf’s hold, shivering because the blanket fell behind Yusuf.

Yusuf yawned as he pulled the blanket over both of them. He nosed the tunic pressed against his mouth. He was glad they bought the thicker one. Nicolo never complained, but he gets colder than Yusuf. 

“I am a bit resentful,” Yusuf mumbled as he kissed Nicolo’s shoulder blade. He rubbed circles over Nicolo’s stomach.

“I dreamt you were naked and feeding me grapes and suddenly, they were charging up on a horde of bandits. Just the two of them, our pair of warrior queens.”

Yusuf snorted. 

“I was very confused.” Yusuf pressed his stirring cock into Nicolo’s lower back. “I woke up both aroused and impressed.”

“Aroused for grapes?” Nicolo mumbled. He sounded distracted.

Yusuf growled as he nibbled the back of Nicolo’s ear. “Among other things.”

Nicolo fidgeted, but did nothing more.

Yusuf relaxed his hold and gentled his voice.

"It is much too late for thought. Would you like to share them with me to lighten your heart?"

Nicolo exhaled. He rubbed Yusuf's arm around his middle. Yusuf understood the request. He enclosed his arms around Nicolo snug again.

"Does this help?" Yusuf murmured. He recalled clutching to Nicolo in his sleep, unwilling to let Nicolo out of his sight. How Nicolo must have endured: the mockery of how Yusuf held him before.

"It always does." Nicolo fell silent again but Yusuf knew he was not asleep. He rubbed Nicolo's stomach. It has not bothered Nicolo in a while, but his appetite remained modest. 

"It is not that," Nicolo said out loud. "I...the women...Do you think they dream of us still?"

Yusuf hummed. He rested his chin on Nicolo's shoulder.

"We dream of them. I do not see why they would not dream of us."

Yusuf grinned. He wondered if that meant the women saw what they did by the stream. And under the fig tree. And against the stable. 

Yusuf was about to tease Nicolo and the embarrassment of what they may have saw when his eyes widened.

"Ah." Yusuf closed his eyes. He held Nicolo tighter.

"What would they think of me?" Nicolo asked in a small voice. He exhaled shakily. "I do not regret...I mean, what I did, I am not proud, but I thought..."

Yusuf kissed Nicolo's nape. Two steps forward, only to be suddenly wrong footed on the third. His hand rubbed slow circles on Nicolo's stomach.

"I am proud of what you have overcome," Yusuf rasped. "And they will be as well." He kissed Nicolo's shoulder.

"They may not." Nicolo's nape tensed against Yusuf's cheek. "They should be honored to have you join them. But as for me, they may reject—" 

"We do not need them."

Nicolo stilled. He turned around and Yusuf's chest seized at the redness in Nicolo's eyes.

"My Nicolo," Yusuf whispered. He captured a lock of hair over Nicolo's cheek and tucked it behind Nicolo's ear. "Our long lives is only bearable and treasured with us together. Should they reject you, we will reject them."

Nicolo sat up on one elbow.

"You would turn your back on them and remain with me?" Nicolo sounded dazed. "Forever?"

Yusuf let his mouth curve into a teasing smile.

"Was that an offer, _hobi_?" 

Nicolo blinked. In spite of the darkness, his red ears stood out.

Yusuf chuckled as he rose up sitting. He captured Nicolo's face between his hands.

"When they come, we will stand our ground. We will defend our choices: separate and together and if they do not approve, we will bid them farewell."

Yusuf's thumbs stroke the heat he felt on Nicolo's cheeks.

"Our future does not depend on them. It would be a pity if they find one of us lacking, but it is pity I would feel for _them_. What loss they will have if they deny themselves the chance to know us. You and I, Nicolo. They take both or none at all."

"You and I," Nicolo repeated. His fragile smile was cradled within Yusuf's hands. 

Yusuf nodded. He tugged Nicolo back down to lie with him. He murmured as he huddled back into the curve of Nicolo's back, his hands slipping around to clasped Nicolo's. Their double fists rested on Nicolo's chest.

"You and I," Nicolo mumbled. He sounded sleepy. 

Yusuf hummed against Nicolo's nape, his eyes sliding shut to the sound of Nicolo's steady breathing.


	24. (Nicolo) - Somewhere outside of Alexandria, 12th century

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: angsty, dub-consent issues with attempted sex

It was tucked inside a scroll.

Nicolo paused from wiping his face and throat with the rag. Yusuf was enthusiastic with his farewells, kissing and then turning to leave for the village.

Only to come charging back, crowding Nicolo against their house, kissing so deep, Nicolo thought he tasted the mint tea Yusuf favored when they broke fast this morning. Yusuf claimed he tasted the flatbread with the stewed figs Nicolo had. Nicolo hastily disagreed. There was a gleam in Yusuf’s eye that promised a repeat which led to other things. It was why Yusuf did not go as intended yesterday.

Yusuf had insisted he would go and see Kahima and fix the cart as Nicolo originally promised Izem. They were a few days late, but Yusuf had accepted the coin after Nicolo fled. Yusuf also hoped to charm the baker into making a replacement rosemary loaf.

It was cowardly, no, embarrassing how much Nicolo did not want to see the baker’s son again. Izem misunderstood and Yusuf was amused (after the initial spell of outrage). 

Nicolo offered to finish the table repairs while Yusuf plied his new skills on the cart. Yusuf unfortunately did not have much affinity with wood unlike Nicolo. He learned to chisel and cut straight in the monastery to earn his day’s bread and the chance to learn how to read Latin. With Yusuf in the village, Nicolo could fix some of the repairs with what wood remained.

It was during his search for the plane to sand one of the legs. As he tugged it out from their sacks under their bed, a scroll unfurled as well.

Nicolo blinked at the deep blue band around the high quality papyrus and the dots left unfilled. Yusuf once explained he liked to draw outlines where he would embellish them with sparkles of silver tinted ink, mixed with turmeric so it could gleam gold.

In the middle of the vaguely familiar scroll, lay the silver tipped pen. The one Yusuf insisted he did not need. The one that took the coin of two merchants’ worth and had left Nicolo gagging for days in memory.

He did not regret it. He did not. It was done. It was fine. 

Nicolo crouched down to the floor. He did not touch the pen. His throat worked. 

It is only a pen, Nicolo reasoned. He picked it up with an unsteady hand and gazed down at it. 

Nicolo expected the pen to be heavy and pulling him down, but it was light. It was only a tool for Yusuf to create beautiful things, a channel for the ink to go where Yusuf desired.

It was broken.

Upon inspection, Nicolo realized there was a crack along the entire length of the pen, a strange twisted knot of cracks in the center. As if a great weight went on it, but the pen did not bend and simply spread the damage.

Yusuf tried to break it, could not, then hid it away.

Nicolo cradled the instrument, his throat working as he realized he has not seen Yusuf do his pen work since they arrived here. Even the letters and the one illustrated scroll was done with the battered pen he packed for their past travels. And Yusuf did the work in the village, away from Nicolo’s sight.

The more Nicolo tried to help, the worst he made it.

Nicolo stroked the pen, imagining it was Yusuf’s steady fingers around the slender object. He thought of Yusuf hunched over thick textured paper on a table, that small smile peeking through his thick, soft beard, his eyes glazed over as he coaxed art out of ink. 

It has been so long since he has seen Yusuf like that.

Nicolo roughly scrubbed his eyes with his sleeve. The coarse fabric irritated his eyes. It was why everything seemed to blur.

The pen was tucked back into the scroll. Nicolo took care rolling the paper, his eyes sweeping over the border as it disappeared within the scroll. Even without the glimmer of ink, the small hollow dots looked like stars. But he did not dare to take a closer look. His hands may hurt the artwork. Has he not done enough damage already?

The scroll was tucked back into Yusuf’s pack. Nicolo knelt on his knees, stooped awkwardly low. He stared at Yusuf’s bag under the bed, stared until his knees hurt, healed and then hurt again.

Nicolo closed his eyes, but his heart could not find a prayer that would fit. He has not found a prayer for anything since they fled Damascus. However, he tucked a thought of Yusuf bent over his art within his heart, murmured a plea that all of Yusuf will return and rose to his feet.

Nicolo smiled faintly as Yusuf gestured how the baker’s son fumbled and tripped as they worked on the cart. He chuckled as Yusuf reenacted Izem flailing as one of the cart’s wheels rolled away.

“...and that horse simply stood there and stared at me as if to ask ‘What do you wish for me to do?’ as the wheel rolled past.” 

Yusuf’s arms dropped against his sides. He step forward and stood in-between Nicolo's knees. He rubbed Nicolo's shoulders.

"I see our table stands. It obeyed your commands and did not collapse," Yusuf murmured. He did not glance behind him. "Did the rest of your day entertained you well?"

Nicolo nodded. He curled his hands on Yusuf's wrists.

Yusuf's hands pressed deeper across the shoulders, soothing a strain Nicolo did not realize existed until now.

Nicolo grunted. He tried to roll his head back. 

"What is it?" Yusuf stepped closer, his body like the heat of a campfire this close to Nicolo's face. His hands continued to massage, sweeping across the tension on Nicolo's shoulders.

Nicolo dropped his head on Yusuf's belly. 

"Oh," Yusuf exhaled. "Hello, _hobi_."

Behind Yusuf, the lentils and rice steamed in the pot. The bread Yusuf brought back smelled earthy of rosemary, cut into chunks and set on a piece of linen from a shirt Nicolo could not salvage. 

The air smelled faintly of the spices Nicolo added as an afterthought. It was not cardamom, but the mashed ginger wafted out bitter and sharply familiar. 

His stomach gurgled uncomfortably. Nicolo grimaced and wrapped his arms around Yusuf's thighs. He could not help it.

"Shall I tell you about the goat that escaped and chased the hens in the village?" Yusuf murmured.

Nicolo took a deep breath, his nose pressed uncomfortably against Yusuf's stomach. Yusuf smelled of sweat, of hard work and a faint musk this close to the gentle swell between his thick thighs. 

Yusuf cupped the back of Nicolo's head, his fingers woven together to brace like a hood. As Nicolo tightened his arms, Yusuf started talking again.

Yusuf regaled Nicolo about the amuck goat already during the early days of their residence here. Back when Nicolo relied on Yusuf's voice to chase away the others. Back when stepping out of the house sent Nicolo in a panic. 

They both pretended the story was new. 

Nicolo turned to rest his cheek on Yusuf's lower abdomen and he watched the world shift around him as Yusuf's stomach rose and fell with each breath. Yusuf was back to before: he did not ask questions, he talked calmly, he reacted little to Nicolo's odd moods. 

But that was not Yusuf, Nicolo thought, his stomach churning. Not truly. Yusuf was bursts of both temper and laughter, his eyes as bright as the sun, his stare on Nicolo just as warm. The only thing that softened the edges was his art, his amazing command of pen and ink. Yusuf was kind. He was gentle, braided into his words and eyes, but his humor and temper was plaited into him as well. 

There was nothing but kindness and patience in this Yusuf. Nicolo was grateful for it, a Yusuf shaped cloak that draped over him. But in exchange, Nicolo feared Yusuf killed the other parts of him. 

The picture of Yusuf was now left with gaps, like the unfilled dots in the scroll he found.

Yusuf was still talking, as if there were many things he wanted to tell Nicolo. Only now he was repeating a tale he heard when he was a boy, about a clever fox and a not so clever snake. Yusuf told Nicolo this story as well. Many times. The first time was nine years after they lowered their swords and raised their regards of each other. They had set camp by the bend of a river, close enough to Tunis that Nicolo caught him gazing into the horizon at the direction of his home every evening. Longing inspired Yusuf to share the tale in simple Arabic, mindful of Nicolo's difficulty with the language. 

Under the twilight sky, their respective weapons on their laps for polish, not for war, the fire burning high between them, Nicolo listened. He stopped sharpening his sword mid-stroke as Yusuf went on. When Yusuf finished, he smiled sadly across the flames at Nicolo.

It was then, Nicolo realized he could never lift his sword to this man again. It was then, Nicolo started to realize there is nothing he would not do for this man.

Nicolo hummed over Yusuf's tunic, his fingers idly tracing the waistline of Yusuf's trousers under the tunic. He felt Yusuf's back underneath, the dip in the middle where his spine was. The muscles twitched as Nicolo's thumb traced up as far as he could of Yusuf's spine. 

Yusuf's voice faltered. There was an audible gulp and then Yusuf proceeded to tell Nicolo of a myth the fishermen shared about creatures living in the endless seas.

He did not know many tales. He did not command the rivers of ink with a pen. All he knew and could offer were the words he memorized for the Church, his sword...

And this...

Nicolo dipped his head and kissed the top of the swell between Yusuf's legs.

Yusuf's hands fidgeted against Nicolo's scalp.

Nicolo's nose burrowed closer, its tip tracing the bulge in the trousers, lower and lower.

"What...what are you doing?" Yusuf asked, strained. He groaned in his throat as Nicolo mouthed the cloth over his cock.

Yusuf's hands trembled, unraveling against the back of Nicolo's scalp.

Nicolo thought of those hands on his scimitar, around his pen, slipping into Nicolo's body to knead and reshape him from the inside out.

Yusuf's knees locked, bumping into Nicolo's chest as Yusuf fought to stay upright.

Nicolo's lips opened more and nibbled along the covered length, tracing its lift up, straining the fabric.

"Nicolo," Yusuf gasped. His fingers carded through Nicolo's hair. The leather strap snapped loose. Nicolo's hair tangled within Yusuf's grasp.

Nicolo firmed his mouth, kissed the damp spot spreading across the front of Yusuf's trousers. He caught one of the laces between his teeth and slowly started to pull.

"Nicolo, Nicolo, no, wait." Yusuf stepped back, his hands back over Nicolo's shoulders.

Nicolo tipped his eyes up at Yusuf and caught Yusuf swallowing hard. The front of his trousers was a mess. Yusuf's cock fought against the fabric. The cloth was damp from Nicolo's mouth and Yusuf's erection.

And Yusuf...

Yusuf groaned. He moved his left hand up to cover Nicolo's eyes.

"No, do not look at me like that." Yusuf took another step back, his hands patting himself as if to check his body was present.

"What, what brought this on?" Yusuf sat down on a chair. It groaned under him but for once, Yusuf did not give it a wary look. 

Nicolo closed his eyes. "You did not want it."

Yusuf choked. "I would say that is not accurate." He gestured towards himself when Nicolo blinked back.

"But my question is did _you_ want it?"

Nicolo grimaced. "I will."

The chair creaked once, twice, as Yusuf sighed. "That is not a good answer."

"I know," Nicolo snapped. "But is it not a fair one?"

"A fair..." Yusuf gaped. "How is it fair if I force you to do something you do not want? I am not—" Yusuf's lips clamped together.

_Not like the others._

Nicolo swallowed again. 

"No," Nicolo croaked. "You are not like the others. You made me feel...it is different when you touch me, showed me how good it can be. Is it not time I should do what you have done for me? It is..." Nicolo's eyes slid away.

"It is not like I have not done this before. And I have, for you in Cairo even though you would not have me swallow."

"If you can not look me in the eye while you tell me this. it is not assuring me this is something you truly want," Yusuf said tersely. "What do you want? Tell me."

Nicolo clenched his jaw. He deliberately turned back to lock eyes with Yusuf. He chose his words carefully and ignored the sweat gathering at the back of his neck.

"I want you to fuck me."

Yusuf stared. Nicolo waited.

The moment was broken when the chair underneath Yusuf shattered.


	25. (Yusuf) - Somewhere outside of Alexandria, 12th century

“I found your pen.”

Yusuf could not help but flinch. He glanced across the table where Nicolo sat on their pallet; he knew Nicolo caught it.

By the time Yusuf cleared away the pieces of the seat and rearranged the table close to the pallet again, the small cast iron kettle of rice and lentils have cooled. And Nicolo went silent.

Dinner was quiet, save the scrape of bread into the bowl of grain. Yusuf was thankful their conversation and Nicolo’s unnerving request did not affect Nicolo’s appetite. His portion was modest, but that is normal as of late. Come to think of it, Nicolo never seemed to eat more than a bowl can fill and rarely went for seconds.

When Nicolo finally spoke, it sounded as loud as a shout.

Yusuf carefully cleaned his bowl with a chunk of bread, scooping up the rice and lentils. He popped it in his mouth; Nicolo was hesitant with the spices and the mixture needed more water, but the concoction was surprisingly good.

Chewing slowly to give himself time to think, Yusuf wordlessly nodded.

It seemed enough for Nicolo. He breathed out as he swept his own bread chunk over the sauce the grains made at the bottom of his bowl. Done, he did not put it in his mouth though. He stared blankly into his bowl at the soaked bread.

“Why did you keep it?” Nicolo asked low. He did not look up.

Yusuf swallowed, sipped his tea and made a face at the combination the tea made with the lingering spices on his tongue.

“It is a good pen.”

“It is broken.”

Yusuf looked over and found Nicolo peering up at him through his lashes, his expression composed, but his eyes murky. 

Yusuf set his mouth and nodded. He remembered the day they found this house. That first night, Nicolo almost choked in his own vomit during a nightmare. Yusuf helped Nicolo get resettled, sat with him until the whimpers Nicolo thought he kept quiet trickled away. 

Yusuf found the pen when he was searching for a rag. When Nicolo went back to sleep, he took it outside and tried to crack it with the hilt of his scimitar. Again and again until his palm was raw from holding his blade too tight. 

“You tried to break it.” 

"Tried," Yusuf acknowledged gruffly. There was no point in denying it. "I failed."

Nicolo finally picked up the bread, ate it and washed it down with his own tea. He made the same face.

Yusuf scoffed before he could stop himself.

“Perhaps I should have just boiled water,” Yusuf murmured.

“Perhaps I should have used a different spice,” Nicolo returned. He took another sip of tea, made another face and shook his head. 

“Be reassured your mastery of imaginative cooking remains unchallenged. Nothing was stranger than your attempts to stuff goat meat into a tiny fig.” 

Yusuf chuckled. “Again, victory is mine.”

Something tensed that hung between them dissipated, like a storm that never came to be. Nicolo smirked wearily at Yusuf.

“Yet at times, it feels like I am the one who won the prize.” Nicolo ran a thumb across the table like he was checking for splinters.

"How odd," Yusuf said, his lips curled up as he gazed at Nicolo, "I feel exactly the same."

Nicolo ducked his head, but not before Yusuf caught the small smile.

“Why did you keep it?” Nicolo asked after a moment, his voice unsure. “It was clear you tried to destroy it, but it would not break entirely. Why did you not throw it into the sea or bury it in the desert?”

Yusuf almost shrugged again, but it occurred to him that the easy, careful answers kept them too cautious of wounds that have yet to heal. He took a deep breath. He swore he would fight for Nicolo even if it meant words that may cut as deep as his blade.

“The pen reminds me not to forget.” Yusuf willed himself to not look away from Nicolo’s dismayed eyes. They were bleached of color. Yusuf almost took his answer back.

“Of what I have done,” Nicolo said dully.

Yusuf shook his head. “Of you.”

Nicolo blinked startled at Yusuf.

Yusuf rose from the table and joined Nicolo on the pallet. He cupped Nicolo’s shoulders and prodded him to face him.

“The pen is a beautiful instrument in the hands of an artist.” Yusuf rubbed Nicolo’s upper arms. They felt cold. 

“A tool.” Nicolo nodded, misunderstanding and shrinking under Yusuf’s hands.

Yusuf shook his head. He gripped Nicolo’s chin and lifted it up so Nicolo could read the pride in his eyes.

“To those who failed to appreciate it,” Yusuf murmured. “But a tool breaks easily. This pen...did not.”

Yusuf’s thumb swept over the sparse scuff he could feel on Nicolo’s chin.

“I tried to break the pen because yes, it reminded me of what you did to get it. And I will admit seeing the pen angered me of my failings—“

“It wasn’t—“

“Sh.” Yusuf brushed his lips lightly on Nicolo’s mouth. “Let me finish. I may not have the courage later to say this.”

Nicolo’s eyes were wide. He nodded and fell silent.

Yusuf's throat felt too small for his words. He studied Nicolo, drinking in the structure of his face, the shape of his jaw, the pink of his mouth.

"You did not break," Yusuf breathed. He settled a hand on Nicolo's jaw. "You were treated cruelly like a mere tool, but you did not break. The cracks are there, but they will not be visible forever and you will once more be an instrument of your own choosing."

Yusuf's lower lip shook as he continued. "It is why I can not fuck you, not in the way you think would help you or please me. I refuse to let you use your own body as a tool to a means again. Not for coin. Not for a way to fix things. That is not the way."

Nicolo's eyes were overly bright. He lowered his eyes, gulping as he fought for calm.

Yusuf's hand brushed over the angles of cheekbone and jaw, savored the roughness on the skin, marveled at the softness of a vulnerable lower lip.

"I wanted to have things the way it was before," Nicolo croaked. "When Cairo did not hang over us, when everything I did could blur into memory and I could step away cleaned."

"Nicolo." Yusuf shifted closer until their thighs touched. "Cairo does not haunt us. What you did for me, for us, is a bittersweet memory and a humbling reminder of how generous your heart is. You are not soiled, nothing about you is corrupted. You are like the pen. A beautiful pen that can create wonderful things and did not break." 

Yusuf palmed Nicolo's leg, his fingers tapping lightly in Nicolo's inner thigh. 

"I would gladly defend you from everyone, fight the demons in your dreams, show you how you truly are, but until you feel like you can stand your ground without me, I do not think you are ready to be _with_ me."

Yusuf let his hand drift higher until it cupped Nicolo's covered cock, lax under cloth.

"Am I right?" Yusuf prodded gently. "The thought may excite me, but not if it does not excite you as well." 

Nicolo stubbornly arched into Yusuf's hand to grind his cock into his hand. He exhaled, frustrated, when Yusuf pulled his hand away.

"Yusuf," Nicolo muttered, frustrated. He covered his face with his hand.

"I do not like this," Nicolo's voice cracked. "But you are correct. I saw the pen and I thought of how tired I was of trying to forget and unable to stop reacting to everything."

Yusuf pressed his lips on Nicolo's fingers and followed them up to kiss Nicolo's brow.

"The pen," Yusuf hedged. "Do you wish me to rid of it?"

Nicolo shook his head. 

"But I wish to be rid of feeling like a stranger to myself," Nicolo muttered. "I thought if you fuck me, then this unsettling feeling of waiting would be over. I know it would hurt and if I faced it sooner than—"

"Was this what Dirar told you?" Yusuf managed to sound calm. Yusuf's chest seized when Nicolo nodded. 

"You are big," Nicolo said as if he was remarking on the weather, but his fingers trembled when he held up two fingers. "You were larger in my mouth than the others—you were larger," he finished awkwardly. "I do not think you would fit as your fingers did. D-Dirar said my blood and his co—"

"No." Yusuf captured Nicolo's cold hands. He pulled them to his mouth and kiss the shaky hands again and again. 

"No. Forget everything he said. Forget everything any of them say. It will not be like that. I swear to you. It will only happen when you truly desire it and I will only let it happen joyously."

Yusuf's throat worked. "Yes, I am...large, it will be a difficult fit, but I would loosen you up. Carefully, slowly, touching you with my fingers first."

Nicolo swallowed. His eyes drifted to Yusuf's hands.

"Loosen me up," Nicolo murmured. "They asked D—they asked if they should and I was not sure what they meant." His mouth pressed together into a white line. His throat worked. "I thought it meant they would just shove their...in me."

Yusuf's eyes burned. He kissed Nicolo's hands again within his grasp.

"No," Yusuf promised. "We would take our time. I would lay you out on the softest sheets, have you warm and slick around my fingers: one, two, three."

Nicolo visibly gulped.

"Yes," Yusuf murmured. "Three. We have only done two. But you are correct. I am large in girth and the stretch in you would be incredible. We may even need four. Oh, I would revel seeing you let me slip four fingers in you. But only when you are ready. I will slide in slowly, very slowly, so you can feel yourself filled and full and possessed. And I will burrow within you, spill within you over and over until you drip with my claim."

Yusuf pulled Nicolo's hands to his heart so Nicolo would sense the promise.

"And one day," Yusuf rasped, "I would welcome the feel of you claiming my body. When the day comes, I will embrace your lovely cock with welcome like how I drink you deep in my throat. I would gladly ride you and be the filled vessel of your release."

Nicolo's hands clutched the spot over Yusuf's heart.

"But that day is not now," Nicolo said. He sounded certain, relieved. Grateful. "It sounds..."

"Frightening," Yusuf supplied with a soft smile. "But when the day comes that it does not, we will join together on equal standing. We are both not there yet."

Nicolo exhaled as he leaned tiredly into Yusuf.

Yusuf hugged Nicolo to him as he pulled them back to curl on top of the bed. Not for sleep, but to enjoy what felt like a new road appearing before them. He felt Nicolo fidgeting closer, the warmth of his body a sweet torture Yusuf gladly embraced. He breathed deeply and felt Nicolo do the same. 

"I hope the day is soon," Nicolo whispered. 

Yusuf hummed.

"It will be."


	26. (Nicolo) - Somewhere outside of Alexandria, 12th century

Yusuf’s hand rested lightly on Nicolo’s hip. Fingers knead the muscle, following the line of his pelvis.

Nicolo? He wanted to kick Yusuf.

As if he could read Nicolo’s mind, Yusuf fondly patted his bare hip. He did not speak, refusing to pull his mouth off Nicolo’s cock, his thick fingers teasing his taint over and over. But they would not slip in.

The sounds Yusuf made...

The stream swirled around their bodies, ripples of cool water against Nicolo’s buttocks. The damp grass around the edge of the pool was crushed under Nicolo’s shoulders and the back of his arms. He struggled to keep his upper body on the grass and out of the pool. His lower body bobbed on top of the water’s surface, kept buoyed with his knees draped over Yusuf’s shoulders.

After their talk two weeks ago, Nicolo thought it meant Yusuf planned to work his way up to the three, four fingers. The thought was at first intimidating. 

Now, it seemed like a maddening goal just shy of reach.

Yusuf has apparently decided there was still more he could do with two fingers inside Nicolo. If he ever stopped teasing Nicolo, that is. Yusuf’s blunt fingers slick with water and slippery from the last bit of soap kept circling his puckered entrance, dipping just a tip, nothing more.

Yusuf teased his hole every time they do this, in a frequency that would have made Nicolo flushed if he did not want to kick Yusuf right now. Yusuf often remarked Nicolo’s endless patience must test a saint.

Right now, Yusuf’s mouth was agonizingly slow, his lips smoothing down, massaging Nicolo’s cock with the very patience Yusuf claimed Nicolo possesses.

Nicolo has not been able to worry about thrusting too deep, about choking Yusuf or grabbing his curls too tight. Sweet torture left his head hazy, his chest heaving with the effort to tamp down the moans, his legs quivering like he was in an endless battle. He ached.

Nicolo would sob when Yusuf’s fingers finally breach him, touching that spot in him again and again after slow and sweet torturous exploration. And Nicolo always came with a cry, his body thrashing up into a taut arch and spilling, emptying into Yusuf’s eager mouth. And Yusuf drank every drop and then kissed Nicolo so Nicolo can taste the faint remnants.

But that is not now.

“This...” Nicolo panted as his hands curled and uncurled, “Is for my comment about your h-horrible dinner last ni— _Yusuf_.” Nicolo shuddered as Yusuf’s tongue lapped over the slit and—oh, oh...

Nicolo was mortified to hear himself keening, his hips bucking helplessly. Water splashed under his buttocks. Yusuf’s fingers circled the rim of his hole as if drawing symbols.

Yusuf sucked hard. Nicolo’s eyes rolled back and there was that weak mewling sound again. He clamped his lips together, but now it seemed to vibrate from the base of his throat.

There was the pressure building in his lower back again. Familiar yet frightening. It was beyond Nicolo’s control, swelling hotter and hotter like he was trapped atop a runaway horse. The power thumping and growing, a beast he could not rein, a beast that will consume his all.

“Yusuf,” Nicolo whimpered, “P-please...” His hands flapped into the water, his shoulders slipping over the edge. 

He _ached_. He needed.

Yusuf's eyes tipped up, brown eyes almost black as night as he considered Nicolo. He winked. And then started humming, salivating around Nicolo's cock.

And like falling, Nicolo felt the rest of himself slide into the wet clutch of Yusuf's throat.

Nicolo choked out in lingua franca, frantic words he barely remembered, moaning out so pitifully as Yusuf moved the hand petting Nicolo’s hip to brace his lower back.

The water and Yusuf’s shoulders was what truly kept Nicolo’s lower half afloat. But he moaned guttural, his hips rolling up, body shuddering at the feel of Yusuf’s hand, as if Yusuf was holding Nicolo up with his large, brown hand.

Nicolo felt his cock spasm and his stomach tightened at the illogical idea of Yusuf possibly able to hold him up like that or...

...or maybe hold him down—

Caught off guard, fevered all over, Nicolo’s neck stretched as his head threw back. He wailed. He came. 

And into Yusuf’s mouth, he was devoured.

“Oh, oh,” Nicolo choked as his hips were hitched higher and Yusuf hunched over his groin, loudly slurping and suckling as if Nicolo was a cup of fabled ambrosia. Nicolo mewled—yes, he could hear the threads of it spilling out of his slack mouth—as he felt the blunt tip of Yusuf’s thumb probing his fluttering hole, slipping in...

_“You have not lay with anyone.”_

_”I will be your first.”_

_“I will gladly teach you what else you can offer besides your mouth.”_

_"I will have you."_

The heat all over Nicolo abruptly turned to ice. The breath he fought to catch was now further out of reach. 

_Dirar’s thumb probed, hooked and caught his hole to drag Nicolo like a carcass. Laughter burned around him. Nicolo’s knees burned as he was yanked closer to Dirar’s engorged cock._

_It was going to hurt. Dirar was going to make sure of it and then share the filthy Frank's torn hole with his crew. And while his body is further violated, they would hunt for Yusuf and there would be nothing he could do—_

No, no, no, nononono...

“...Y-yusuf...”

There must have been something in Nicolo’s voice. Yusuf’s thumb was suddenly gone. Nicolo’s spent cock slipped out of his mouth, a worried, “Nicolo?” followed.

But Nicolo still could not breathe. It was becoming more difficult.

Water churned as Nicolo was eased into the water. His knees would not listen and Nicolo pitched forward, crashing into Yusuf’s chest.

Haven. Yusuf. _Yusuf._

Nicolo greedily wrapped his hands on Yusuf’s biceps. His forehead rocked on the damp short hairs of Yusuf’s chest. He could not find Yusuf’s heartbeat. Where was it?

Nicolo heard himself keening again, so lost and useless. He heard Yusuf murmuring, his hands mirroring Nicolo’s arms just as tight. Nicolo gasped, tried to explain. He is all right. No, it did not happen. He is with Yusuf. He needed to stop this, stop this, stop, stopstopstop...

“ _Hobi_ ,” Yusuf said as if he could not breathe as well.

“I...” Nicolo panted. He could not lift his head. “Wait...just...wait...it is f-fine, I need...need...”

Yusuf’s hands loosened and started to rub Nicolo’s arms slowly, up and down in sync with his own breathing.

Nicolo found himself following the pace, wheezing and forcing air as best he could to Yusuf's guidance. Yusuf’s hands went up, Yusuf breathed in. His hands went down as he breathed out.

The band around Nicolo’s throat and chest loosened. He then found Yusuf’s heartbeat. With a choked whine, he huddled closer, pressing his ear over the steady beat.

“Can I...” Nicolo croaked. He blinked rapidly. “Just for a moment.”

Yusuf’s hands moved to cup the back of Nicolo’s head. He walked backwards in the water, keeping Nicolo’s head tucked close. He leaned back on the edge of the pool and held Nicolo.

“Take what you need,” Yusuf said low. “All I possess is yours.”

Nicolo mouthed a spot over Yusuf’s heart to mark it and stayed on it. He listened. He breathed.

And then, he started to cry.

It felt like it would not end.

Once the first tear trailed down, the rest followed, faster and faster until Nicolo found himself gasping trying to stop and failing miserably.

Nicolo heard himself, talking in broken Arabic as if trying to talk to Yusuf for the first time, when lingua franca flowed easier. He stuttered around Dirar’s name, about how he knew Nicolo had not laid with anyone, how Dirar’s gaze gleamed when he first offered triple to have him. And then the offer was either himself or else Yusuf.

It had been no question who it had to be. Nicolo gasped as he talked about standing on Dirar’s ship and seeing his sword in Dirar’s hands, fondling it like he would the darkly engorged object between his legs.

Nicolo remembered curling into Yusuf. Yusuf, who half-supported him back to the house. Yusuf, who settled a shaking Nicolo against him on the bed, threw the blanket over their nude bodies. Yusuf, who simply listened as Nicolo described how Dirar’s thumb stabbed itself into his taint, as if testing if the meat was rancid, how Dirar tugged him across the floor, and relished in describing how Nicolo’s bloodied hole will be loose enough for the rest of his men.

The only time Yusuf made a sound, a distressed rumble that seemed to shake his entire body, was when Nicolo hiccuped that he was sure Yusuf would reject him after, but at least he was safe from the intent of men such as Dirar.

The more Nicolo talked, the more he could not stop. The weight in his chest did not lighten. It bear down hotter and heavier as he spoke, as he found himself telling Yusuf he hoped Dirar’s rage would overcome him, killing Nicolo during the deed and would toss him overboard. His eyes blurred as he confessed he hoped death would spare him from the others.

Inside the cocoon the blanket created, Nicolo’s words sounded quieter, coming from someone else. Nicolo panted against Yusuf, his ear still over Yusuf’s heart, his own racing too hard.

“It hurt,” Nicolo mourned, confused, his neck stiff, his limbs feeling sharp and brittle and not his. His fingers dug over his own chest. His heart continued to pound.

“It did not happen. Why does it hurt?” Nicolo shouted into Yusuf’s chest. “It did not happen...”

Yusuf said nothing. He dropped his chin on top of Nicolo’s head. He cradled Nicolo close and said nothing.

And Nicolo could not stop crying. He could not stop talking.

_”I knew you would come back.”_

_Nicolo gripped his sword’s hilt tighter._

_The merchant Dirar scoffed._

_“I told you work on the docks is as scarce as rain. You Franks thought praying to your god would grant you rain before your attacks? Pity not more of you withered into dust from thirst.”_

_“I am here to present you a different offer in exchange,” Nicolo said stiffly. He changed his grip on the sword. “Caravans are vulnerable to bandits. Thieves.”_

_“And Christian invaders,” Dirar drawled._

_Nicolo flinched._

_“My offer remains the same. I will teach you how to earn coin with that mouth of yours and work on the docks will be available to you again. But if any seeks distraction in your mouth, you will come at my request.”_

_Nicolo flushed angrily. “You are not the only merch—“_

_“The men in the docks fled Damascus with me,” Dirar hissed. “I may not be the only merchant, but here in Cairo, it is the only dock!”_

_Nicolo clenched his jaw._

_“You know how to please one’s cock with your mouth?” Dirar was blunt, no longer as charming and clever smiling as before, when he crooned in sympathy when Nicolo did not have enough coin to pay._

_Nicolo glanced away._

_“You look at me and I will teach you kindly,” Dirar said low. “Ignore me and you will not leave this ship. I will take you out to sea and let coarser men on filthy ships teach you for days until you can no longer sit. Then, I will dump you at the market stripped, sullied and still without coin. Let us see how your dear friend Yusuf will regard you then.”_

_Nicolo’s eyes dragged back to Dirar._

_Dirar smiled, a slit across his dark face, his eyes narrowed to slivers._

_“Good,.” Dirar murmured. He rose from his chair and crossed the room. He pulled Nicolo’s hand away from his sword. He dropped a hand on Nicolo’s shoulder._

_“Now kneel, Frank, and gladly learn from my cock.”_

_Shaking, Nicolo sank to his knees with a mere nudge of Dirar’s hand._

He felt nailed to the bed. The bed smelled strange. The blanket over him felt heavy.

A hand, Yusuf’s hand, swept over his hair again and again, pushing back clammy locks from his brow.

Nicolo’s eyes felt gritty like sand was caked under his eyes. He opened them and found his head on Yusuf’s thigh.

“Can you sit up?” Yusuf rasped as if he has been talking, not Nicolo.

Nicolo pushed off with an elbow. He looked down at himself. He was dressed. He blinked at Yusuf. He was dressed as well. Behind Yusuf...

“It is night?” Nicolo croaked. He paused, a hand reaching up. His throat ached.

Yusuf nodded, both to Nicolo’s vocal question and the silent one.

“You were throwing up after...” Yusuf sat closer, their hips touching. “You would not stop.”

Yusuf exhaled slowly. He wrapped a arm around Nicolo’s shoulders, murmuring wordlessly as Nicolo sagged against him.

“Then, you simply...stopped.” Nicolo caught Yusuf swallowing hard out of the corner of his eye. “You stopped vomiting, stopped talking, stopped...” He hesitated.

“Crying,” Nicolo offered. He blinked tiredly. The lunch he made before Yusuf coaxed him to bathe together was still on the table. He had boiled eggs, cut thick wedges of the first melon that sprang round and firm above ground. He had mashed lentils into a paste. He wanted Yusuf to try it. It seemed so long ago.

“You slept,” Yusuf explained as he pressed a warm tea cup into Nicolo’s hand. “I could not rouse you to eat or even drink. Thought it best to let you sleep.”

It explained why Nicolo’s limbs felt lethargic. Moving took some effort and thinking.

“Drink,” Yusuf prodded. “Mint tea. I made it weaker in case you can not stomach anything.”

“In truth,” Nicolo said slowly as he sipped the tea. He found himself to be thirsty, incredibly so and before he knew it, Yusuf was pulling the emptied one away and giving him a new one.

“In truth?” Yusuf smiled, strained. Whatever Nicolo had babbled to him settled behind his eyes.

“I am...hungry?” Nicolo peered into the cup and studied the tiny reflection of himself. It was a different stranger staring back up at him. “I feel hungry. It is strange.”

Yusuf breathed out. “All right. Stay where you are.”

Nicolo sat back on the wall, watching Yusuf move the table closer to the pallet. To his surprise, Yusuf did not pull a chair to sit, but sat down shoulder to shoulder with Nicolo. Yusuf pulled the bowls to the pallet between them.

Nicolo tugged the blanket over his shoulders and watched Yusuf cut up the boiled eggs and sprinkle the pieces over the lentils.

Yusuf scraped a modest amount onto a spoon and passed it to Nicolo.

Nicolo ate slowly, watched Yusuf chewed his own spoonful, one of his cheeks puffed out as he ate.

After another taste, Yusuf lowered his spoon.

“I had wondered,” Yusuf said quietly as he set the bowl aside. “I knew you were forced to be used, but I avoided thinking about it and often my mind...” He shook his head.

“But I had mostly wondered how Dirar made you go to his ship and offer yourself...” Yusuf’s shoulder leaned into Nicolo. It felt like they were supporting each other sitting up.

“It was not for coin,” Nicolo murmured, but was not surprised when Yusuf shook his head.

“No, I knew that, but I feared to know what it could be. And my imagination went rampant, fearing what unspeakable things were done but I never thought...”

Yusuf exhaled. He massaged his brow with a hand. “I had not realized he used me as your price.”

Nicolo shrank into the blanket. He rested his forehead on Yusuf’s shoulder.

“I do not regret it,” Nicolo said quietly. “And if it indeed happened...” Yusuf slipped an arm around Nicolo’s shoulders.

“If it did happened, I would not have rejected you.” Yusuf rested his cheek on top of Nicolo’s head. “All these years, surely you would not doubt this?”

Nicolo blinked rapidly. His eyes burned, but stayed dry.

“The things they said to me, the words before they paid me. I believed them. All of them. Even now, I can not help think I...I would have rejected me,” Nicolo rasped.

“It felt only right that everyone else should.”

Nicolo ran a trembling finger around the edge of the bowl. Despite his previous claim, he no longer felt hungry.

“Rejecting you would be like rejecting my own heart.” Yusuf captured Nicolo’s hand around the bowl and settled it on his chest.

“Feel how it beats? How it beats your name?” Yusuf sighed, his chest lifting as he took a deep breath.

“Do you remember how I said everything you do is poetry? You are my song, Nicolo, the words in my heart. What you were willing to do, to suffer, for me...”

Yusuf tugged Nicolo’s hand to his mouth. He kissed the center of the palm and when he pulled it away, Nicolo felt dampness trickling down his hand.

“No debt, no guilt,” Nicolo murmured. “Remember? You were right: I did not do it freely, I offered myself to Dirar under threat, but I did it willing. All of it. It hurts, but if I must, I will do it all again if it keeps you safe.”

Yusuf sighed. He covered Nicolo’s hand with both of his and pressed their clasped hands to his chest.

They listened to Yusuf’s heart together.

“I would do the same,” Yusuf said after a moment, “It sounds like an empty vow in front of everything you have done, but it is true. I would do the same if it means you are safe.”

Nicolo rested heavily on Yusuf and watched the wall and the jars of food.

“You know I took their...” Nicolo breathed out slowly.

“You do not need to say it.” Yusuf hugged their hands harder over his heart.

“No. I need to...” Nicolo’s throat worked.

“I took their cocks in my mouth,” Nicolo said out loud. Against him, Yusuf flinched. It was the second time Nicolo said it out loud, but it hurt like the first.

“I let them come down my throat. And I let them slip coin into my pocket.” Nicolo sank against Yusuf. “And it hurt when they used my mouth. I...I felt like nothing. In time, it felt like I d-deserved it.”

With a broken moan, Nicolo hunched forward, wrapping his other arm around his middle.

“Sometimes, I still believe it,” Nicolo whimpered. “I tried not to, but sometimes I hear them screaming the murderous Frank deserved it.”

Yusuf groaned. He pulled Nicolo into the hollow his body made curled over Nicolo. He kissed Nicolo’s eyes, his nose, the bob of his throat, his ears.

“ _Hobi_ ,” Yusuf chanted. His hands cupped Nicolo’s ass to pull him to settle between his legs. He ran hands on Nicolo’s body.

“This _world_ does not deserve you,” Yusuf said fiercely. “You are more than who they made you believe. “

Nicolo shuddered, the blanket falling off his shoulders, but he did not feel cold. He felt oddly lighter, dizzy with the same racing sensation out by the stream.

“Everything,” Nicolo choked. “Everything. You and I. Yusuf...”

“You and I,” Yusuf agreed as he hugged Nicolo to him, his legs closing around Nicolo. But Nicolo did not feel trapped.

He felt whole.

There was something about Yusuf under moonlight.

Nicolo let his arms rest on Yusuf’s thighs. They were in reverse of this morning. Yusuf sat on the edge of the pool, while Nicolo stood in the water lapping around his middle.

Water in Yusuf’s beard caught the shimmer of the moon above them.

“You look like you have gems in your beard,” Nicolo murmured. He rested his head on Yusuf’s left knee. He gazed up. Yusuf’s brown skin seemed to have a sheen. 

“Moonlight embraces you,” Yusuf told Nicolo, dreamily as if they were in bed, not in the small pool. “I am jealous how it clings to your skin. I would challenge it if only it were not so high up in the sky.”

Nicolo shook his head. “I can not best that. You and your pretty words.”

“Me and my pretty words,” Yusuf agreed. “They seem to spill out easily when you are before me. A blind man would rejoice at the sight of you.” He rubbed Nicolo’s arm on his leg.

“How are you feeling?” Yusuf asked gently. “This day has been an ordeal for you.”

“I ruined it,” Nicolo said bitterly before he could stop himself. 

Yusuf murmured as he continued rubbing Nicolo’s arm. He gripped Nicolo’s hand by his hip.

“You ruined nothing,” Yusuf promised. “We are learning what we like from each other and...” He stroked Nicolo’s knuckles. 

“And what we do not like.”

Nicolo blinked hard. He watched Yusuf touch his hand as he would trace fine lines on paper.

“Di...”

Yusuf’s hand stilled.

Nicolo pressed his face over Yusuf’s thigh. 

“I have not wept this much even when I was a child,” Nicolo rasped, “Why do I not feel done?”

Yusuf returned to stroking Nicolo’s hand again.

Nicolo sniffled. He nuzzled Yusuf’s thigh. The hairs on Yusuf’s leg tickled when the limb flexed under Nicolo’s cheek.

“You will not tell me I do not have to talk about it?” Nicolo muttered.

“Perhaps the tears are there to warn us we should,” Yusuf replied. He reached out his other hand and carded it through Nicolo’s hair.

“But say a word and I will,” Yusuf whispered. “But only for now. If your heart tells you ‘not now’ then we will talk about it later.”

The stream was calm at night but below the surface, it swirls around Nicolo’s legs as if racked under a storm.

“No,” Nicolo rasped. He stepped in closer. Yusuf’s knees spread wider, his ankles crossing behind Nicolo. It was strangely reassuring to feel the weight of Yusuf’s heels resting on his lower back. 

“It is finally ‘Later,’ I think,” Nicolo whispered, soaking in the strength of Yusuf’s legs around him. 

Yusuf stroked back a strand of hair behind Nicolo’s ear. He said nothing, but his eyes were patient. Utterly so. Nicolo felt like he would cry again.

“Di...” Nicolo set his jaw and tried again. 

“Dirar used his thumb in me.” 

“Ah,” Yusuf said sadly. 

“After...He...he said I was tight.” Nicolo swallowed. “It was when you were with Aziz, after you went to look for work in the docks.”

Yusuf slipped his hand around Nicolo’s, his fingers coaxing his fist loose. Nicolo did not realize he curled his hands to strike the grass by Yusuf.

“I thought he had you.” Nicolo fought to keep his voice steady. “I feared he told you before I could or...or...”

Nicolo hiccuped. He dropped his head onto Yusuf’s thigh.

“I could not have him hurt you,” Nicolo’s voice shook. “I could not bear the possibility. I went to the docks and he was there. He made me think he had you. We..."

Yusuf massaged Nicolo's hand. His lightly furred thigh flexed again.

"He said he would pay triple if he was the one to teach me to..." Nicolo choked, but the rest of the words would not come out.

Yusuf's heels nudged Nicolo's lower back. His thighs gently squeezed against Nicolo's sides. It was like one of Yusuf's hugs. He always surrounded Nicolo, a cloak to ward off a thousand enemies.

"I fought him." Nicolo's voice hitched. "I tried, but he said I come willing or he will use you to make me come willing."

Yusuf's hand curled tighter around Nicolo's hand.

"He...he...his thumb, I felt him, touching me like a piece of m-meat..." Nicolo pressed his wet eyes over Yusuf's leg. "He guessed I have not...and he sounded glad. They all did. He said I would tear and it would hurt and then I did not want to do it anymore but they would not let me leave until I swallowed all their...all their...I do not remember the rest. That is when you found me outside the docks after I was used up."

"Nicolo," Yusuf murmured, speaking at last.

Nicolo breathed harshly through clenched teeth. He kept his eyes over Yusuf's thigh.

"I was a piece of meat when I went back," Nicolo spat out, his voice trembling. "His thumb, he, the others, forced their hands on me and laughed at how tight I was and I could not, I tried..."

"But it did not happen," Nicolo exploded. Water flew up around them when he kicked the pool's dirt walls. "But it feels like it did."

Yusuf kissed the hand he held over and over as Nicolo found himself unable to speak again. He shook too hard, his words trapped in his constricting throat.

Nicolo heard himself sobbing, dry-eyed, raw sounds escaping his lips as he crushed his face to Yusuf's thigh again. 

"It does not matter if it did or did not," Yusuf whispered in contrast to the harsh noises Nicolo could not stop himself from making. "It matters that you thought it will. Bracing for a blow hurts if it happens or not. It is still a pain that needs healing."

Nicolo exhaled. He brushed his lips on an old childhood scar Yusuf always avoided talking about, refusing with red ears and a nervous laugh each time Nicolo asked about it.

"I know it did not happen. I wished none of it did," Yusuf croaked. "But I am grateful for you telling me. I-I did not want to think about it. Perhaps I thought then it could feel like it did not happen at all."

Nicolo nodded wearily. "I thought the same. Not just with Dirar, but with the ones who paid." 

Nicolo scrubbed his eyes with his arm. He gestured towards himself.

"I thought only the rules, of what I was supposed to do to...to please them. I did not think of their c—" 

Nicolo took a deep breath to force out the word, "cocks and I thought then I would be able to cope."

"Your stomach could not cope," Yusuf murmured. "You grew thin day after day." He sighed. "And all I did was find you tea."

"You were there," Nicolo croaked. "And you showed me it did not have to be the way they showed me. It made their words feel like lies. It did not always have to hurt."

"They are all lies." Yusuf cupped the back of Nicolo's head. He dropped a kiss on Nicolo's brow. 

Nicolo huddled closer and pressed his face on Yusuf's stomach.

Yusuf stroked Nicolo's hair. As he breathed, his chest expanded, his stomach flexed. It was like swaying.

Nicolo pulled his arms around Yusuf.

"You said rules," Yusuf murmured. His hand went up and down, fingers combing his hair, carefully unraveling tangles. 

"Always let them see my eyes," Nicolo recited, "Do not bite. Do not touch. Always swallow."

Yusuf made a pained noise.

"When you first offered," Yusuf rasped, "I thought it was strange how you did not seem to be there for a moment and then you were back. Your hands...your eyes..."

Yusuf ran his hand through Nicolo's hair. His hand stopped.

"Some liked to pull," Nicolo answered the question in Yusuf's stillness. "They like to pull hard." Nicolo lifted a hand and touched a spot above his left ear.

"Some pulled the same spot again and again. It...my scalp, did not always heal quickly. I kept my hair down so you would not see."

Yusuf lowered his head and kissed the spot Nicolo indicated.

Nicolo rested his face on Yusuf's stomach again.

"You were different," Nicolo whispered. "I was confused. You did not let me swallow. You let me touch you and you...you sounded..."

Nicolo waved towards his lower body. "I felt something, but I was not...why would I react?"

"The feel of your cock in my mouth," Yusuf said hoarsely, "The sound of your voice as you came, was enough for me."

Nicolo blinked against Yusuf.

"Oh."

"They taught you wrong," Yusuf bit out, yet his hands remained gentle on Nicolo. "There are no rules. The only rule is between us, our hearts and what our bodies tell us."

Nicolo nodded slowly.

"I was taught wrong," Nicolo said numbly. He pulled away and tilted towards Yusuf.

"You will teach me," Nicolo said, but he heard the hesitant question in his own words.

Yusuf shook his head.

" _Hobi_. We will teach each other."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is starting to feel like a whole other story called "The sex education of Kaysanova." Sorry, OP. Here is when I ran amuck from the original prompt. LOL.


	27. (Yusuf) - Somewhere outside of Alexandria, 12th century

“I have not seen you draw in a long time.”

Yusuf’s fingers twitched. 

There was an uncomfortable moment when Yusuf realized he was trying to grasp a pen. He cleared his throat and refocused on Nicolo tucked against him warm and reassuringly close. 

“Hm,” Yusuf hummed, as he ran a palm down Nicolo’s bare flank, enjoying how the muscles flex under his touch. He was content to watch Nicolo clean their fronts with such efficiency and yet with that pink flush on his ears. 

“Oh, but what would I draw right now,” Yusuf murmured, “If not on all this pale skin before me? The things I would draw on you: a treasure map? But I can not decide if the treasure is your pink mouth or your pink cock. “

The flush on Nicolo‘s ears burned brighter. He cleared his throat and continued to primly wipe the dried stains off Yusuf’s stomach. 

Yusuf sighed. He watched Nicolo with a smile.

“This is nice,” Yusuf murmured. He tilted a hip, his cock swaying out of the bristly hair of his groin. He hummed as Nicolo cleaned his pelvis with careful strokes.

“I would think a bath is better but not after what happened yesterday. “ Nicolo shot Yusuf a squinting look. 

Yusuf smirked. “You did not complain. My tongue was in your ass, not in your mouth.”

And oh, the pink has washed down Nicolo’s neck. The cloth he held with one hand trembled over Yusuf’s navel.

Nicolo glared at Yusuf, but the effect was lost with his pink cheeks. He dropped his eyes and blinked between their bodies. 

“It was good,” Yusuf said gently. He took the rag and carefully wiped it over the dark circles on Nicolo’s chest. He avoided the nubs, still sensitive; glorious red points that strained beautifully with a sly tug of Yusuf’s teeth. Oh, the sounds Nicolo made when he came for a second time; Nicolo was stunned one could so Yusuf gleefully showed him how their healing bodies could enjoy a third.

Nicolo nodded mutely, his eyes still between their bodies. 

“But I do not expect you to do the same,” Yusuf added as he finished. He tossed the rag behind him.

“Not yet,” Nicolo murmured.

“Not ever.”

Nicolo’s wide eyes met Yusuf’s.

“ _Hobi_ ,” Yusuf whispered. He cupped Nicolo’s jaw. “What we do for each other...there is no debt. Remember? While I would gladly try to repay you for what you have suffered, it is a price I embraced. It is not a burden to want to make you happy forever.”

Yusuf settled back down, his bent arm under his ear. Nicolo did the same. 

“What we do, what I enjoy doing to you,” Yusuf continued, “has no price. I expect nothing in return but the privilege of sharing your pleasure.”

How Nicolo’s cheeks quivered when Yusuf spread them to reveal the dark swirl of muscle, sleek from soap and the stream. Nicolo trembled first with nerves, then with something else as Yusuf laved the thin skin between the cheeks with his tongue.

“It felt...” Nicolo shuddered, his cheeks flushed further. Yusuf could not help but touch the color and see if the stain was as warm.

“Like I was seeking shelter in your skin,” Yusuf guessed. He smiled at Nicolo’s blink. “For me, it felt like I was trying to taste your soul. Oh, the sounds you made reached me as deep and as intimate.”

Nicolo mouthed the last word, trying to correct his pronunciation. 

“It was like with your, um, fingers.” Nicolo held up the hand not under his head. “It felt...intimate?” He continued after Yusuf nodded. “But different. It did not go as deep as your fingers—“

“If you would allow me,” Yusuf softly growled, “I would very much like to try. I would very much like to keep you in that stream and eat you out like a starving man and taste your heart pounding as you come.”

Nicolo’s throat worked.

“Oh,” Nicolo half-squeaked.

The sounds Nicolo makes were never the same. Yusuf found himself constantly charmed. 

“Does that frighten you?” Yusuf murmured, “I do not mean to speak so...intimate. It unnerves me how much I hunger and thirst for you.”

“It is the same for me,” Nicolo rasped. He smiled, a little crooked from the angle he lay on his side. 

“I would not have let you interrupt the morning meal otherwise.”

Yusuf chuckled. “I opened my eyes to the sight of you naked and cutting bread on the table. So many delicious things to feast on. I thought that was what we were breaking fast on.”

Nicolo rolled his eyes and settled onto his back.

Yusuf remained on his side, his head pillowed by his arm.

“You did not answer my question,” Nicolo said towards their roof. He turned, keen eyes on Yusuf. “I did not forget.”

Yusuf grimaced. “Ah, yes.” He shrugged one shoulder. “There is no need for drawing here. No one wishes to barter fish for a gilded manuscript of children’s tales.”

A shadow flickered across Nicolo’s face. He turned back towards the roof.

“In a city, there would be much demand for your art.” Nicolo swallowed. He did not turn back to Yusuf. “We could find you another pen—“

“I have one,” Yusuf said sharply. Too sharp because Nicolo glanced over and away just as quickly.

“Not one for fine lines,” Nicolo said quietly. “Not one that could create a scroll like the one in your sack.” Nicolo held up both hands towards the roof. “Stars, I think?”

“Constellations,” Yusuf corrected. He smiled to himself, watching Nicolo’s lips move, silently repeating the word to commit it to memory.

Nicolo lowered his hands. He folded them in front of his chest, looking solemn despite his lack of dress.

“It is because of Cairo,” Nicolo said after a moment. It was heartbreaking that Nicolo did not see a need to form it as a question. “Because of me.”

“I would be a petty man to deny it when you were brave enough to tell me about Dirar last week.” Yusuf reached out and skimmed a hand over Nicolo’s closest shoulder. He still felt too thin. It hurt to see. He would gladly not answer if he thought it would help.

“Brave?” Nicolo scoffed. “Is this what we call my hysteria?”

“You were not hysterical.”

“It felt like I was.” Nicolo turned back to Yusuf, “But you pulled me back from falling into madness.”

Yusuf rubbed Nicolo’s shoulder.

“Yes, I will admit,” Yusuf sighed, “I have a lack of desire to draw after Cairo. I can not stop thinking of how blind I was to all you have done while I lost myself to selfish pursuits. There are days I want to cut off my foolish hands or my eyes for they have failed you.”

“I do not think your art was selfish,” Nicolo returned. He gazed up as if it was the morning sky and not their sagging roof. “I can not accomplish what you can. It felt like the only way I can contribute was to support the beautiful things you do.”

Yusuf blinked. 

Nicolo’s fingers tapped on his chest.

“When you are lost in your art, you look...” Nicolo squirmed. He rolled back on his side to gaze back at Yusuf. He smiled hesitantly.

“You looked like the Yusuf you are meant to be.”

Yusuf reached over and touched Nicolo’s lower lip.

“The Yusuf I am meant to be is the one by your side,” Yusuf whispered. “But I understand what you are trying to say. Thank you, Nicolo. The beautiful things you think I do are done with you in my heart. You are an endless well of inspiration for me. Never forget that.”

Nicolo smiled faintly. His lips parted in invitation. Yusuf’s fingers pressed at the lower lip, darting in to trace Nicolo’s teeth before slipping free.

“I wish I could do what you do,” Nicolo murmured.

Yusuf liked the idea, Nicolo settled comfortably against him as Yusuf showed him how to coax lines into shapes.

“I would be happy to teach you,” Yusuf offered. “We still have paper and making charcoal to sketch is simple.”

Nicolo shook his head. “No, I meant...” He touched his mouth with a hand.

“Ah,” Yusuf murmured. He smiled to himself.

Nicolo grimaced. “I like what...how you make me feel with...” He squirmed. “When you touch me with your fingers...” 

Yusuf shifted closer. He leaned in and traced Nicolo’s mouth with a finger. 

“I could teach you that as well,” Yusuf murmured, “or you can teach me what gives you the pleasure the most.”

Nicolo blinked. “Me?”

Yusuf’s nose bumped Nicolo’s lower lip. 

“Yes. You,” Yusuf whispered. He kissed Nicolo’s chin. “What makes you writhe with pleasure may be different for me. No one can teach this except each other. Your body is a map I enjoy exploring, but guidance would also be welcomed.” 

Nicolo pressed his lips to Yusuf’s beard, a kiss Yusuf felt not only on his face, but also rushing down hot to his groin.

“I would like a map to you,” Nicolo murmured. Emboldened by Yusuf’s growing interest pressed against his hip, his hand wandered lower. 

Yusuf groaned. He lifted a knee to give Nicolo better access. He watched, his eyes heavy-lidded at Nicolo as Nicolo touched his hip and cock with reverence. That touch has not changed since the first time. Yusuf was humbled.

“My heart,” Yusuf murmured. He canted his hips higher, his cock half erect and seeking. He ached, more when Nicolo’s hand cupped the cock head, memorizing the shape. 

“This...good?” Nicolo ventured. He mimicked what Yusuf did this morning, feeling the cock swell within the curl of his warm hand. “Or do you wish for more?”

Yusuf knew what Nicolo was hinting at. And the thought of that hot clench around his cock made it sprang up in Nicolo's smooth hand. But he searched Nicolo’s eyes and found the tension still lingering within the ever-changing seas in his eyes. Today, they held gray storms, murky and apprehensive.

“I have a better idea,” Yusuf murmured. He reached for Nicolo as he rolled on to his back at the same time.

“Yusuf,” Nicolo grumbled, but did not resist when Yusuf tugged him to lie halfway on Yusuf’s torso.

Yusuf leisurely rutted his cock on the crease of Nicolo’s buttocks. He enjoyed the sight of Nicolo swaying under his lazy thrusts. 

Nicolo breathed out shakily. He dropped his head back onto Yusuf’s shoulder. The position stretched him, an elegant arch that tilted up his hips higher, his ass cheeks a channel for Yusuf to grind between.

“I could draw the constellations on your back,” Yusuf mumbled as he reached around and cupped Nicolo’s cock. He let his rolling hips move them both, gliding Nicolo into his palm.

“I would color the stars with my release, let the white dry on your skin, so I may see the night sky move under my touch.”

“Yu...yu...” Nicolo whimpered. He gasped, choked huffs as he shivered, aligning his buttocks with Yusuf’s erection.

“I would draw ribbons of symbols around your legs, wrap around your cock, incantations of the spell you constantly put me under...”

Nicolo panted. His head lolled on Yusuf’s shoulder. 

Yusuf ran delicate fingers down Nicolo’s cock. It weakly twitched. Like Yusuf, the body still craved. 

“You bewitch me,” Yusuf muttered. "What you do to me..." His hips snapped forward, his cock leaving beads of white under Nicolo’s buttocks. 

Nicolo shook his head, mumbling his innocence even as he swayed back, round muscle kneading Yusuf’s cock with each clench.

“You move without guile,” Yusuf whispered into Nicolo’s ear. “Yet I am caught, captured, helpless under your regard...”

Nicolo moaned. His legs moved, his heels digging into the thin mattress on the pallet. His hips twitched up.

Yusuf curled a hand on Nicolo’s cock. He thought better of it and pulled his hand away.

Nicolo sobbed at the loss.

"Sh..." Yusuf kissed the back of Nicolo’s ear. He gazed down at their bodies. Nicolo’s legs parted, his cock bouncing neglected.

“Cast the spell on yourself, _hobi_ ,” Yusuf breathed as he reposition his leg to settle between Nicolo’s trembling legs. “Let your body guide you. Teach me what you crave.”

Nicolo choked, his body now flushed all over. He jolted when Yusuf bent his leg, brushing against his inner thighs from behind. Gasping Yusuf’s name, Nicolo started to ground his ass over Yusuf’s thigh.

Yusuf continued to sway into the curve of Nicolo’s back as he murmured encouragingly. Nicolo was hesitantly riding Yusuf’s thigh, the back of his legs pink from the rough hair on Yusuf’s leg.

Nicolo kept making small desperate noises, his hands flailing back to Yusuf’s hips. Yusuf doubted Nicolo knew why he did that, but Yusuf’s hips snapped up on the unintentional command. He rutted into the small of Nicolo’s back.

“Are you there?” Yusuf murmured into Nicolo’s ear. He petted down Nicolo’s flanks, shushing Nicolo as he growled because Yusuf’s hands kept ignoring his cock.

“One more,” Yusuf coaxed. “You can give me one more without my hand touching you.”

Nicolo whined behind his throat.

“Yes you can,” Yusuf encouraged. “You are almost there. One more. Look how your cock weeps. Obey what your body wants.”

Nicolo exhaled sharply, his legs jerking, knees bending as he rutted. Yusuf could feel Nicolo’s balls tight against Nicolo’s body, slapping and rubbing across his thigh. Sticky fluid dribbled down from Nicolo’s cock, splattering Yusuf’s leg.

“P-please,” Nicolo choked. He could not finish.

Yusuf wrapped his arms around Nicolo’s middle, avoiding touching the cock flushed and bobbing so wantonly. He rolled them back onto their sides, his leg still tucked between Nicolo’s.

The position allowed Nicolo to buck and rock harder over Yusuf’s thigh, his pace frantic, his words pleading for Yusuf to touch him. Yusuf would not. 

“You do not need my hands on you,” Yusuf murmured. He hooked his chin over Nicolo's shoulder. “Let me see. You are so close. Can you feel it brewing in your belly?” 

Yusuf kissed the back of Nicolo’s head. He kept his leg bent for Nicolo. He felt how fevered Nicolo felt all over, shaking as an overwhelming feeling grew. 

He knew this feeling. He felt it every time his hands swept over pale skin and sweat damp limbs. He felt this feeling every time Nicolo bucked against him, pulling him along. 

It was a dance. Their dance. Unspoken, guided only by the music of their hearts, making their bodies sing.

“ _Hobi_ ,” Yusuf murmured, his hips moving against Nicolo. "My beautiful Nicolo." 

Yusuf's cock was a painful weight against the sleek damp of Nicolo’s back. Nicolo’s thighs clamped around Yusuf’s leg, grinding, humping, faster and faster, rubbing Yusuf's thigh raw. 

The feel of Nicolo's sacs tightening, Nicolo whimpering, his body writhing, writhing...

There was a rush of heat racing down Yusuf’s back. He felt his ass clench, his groin pulling tight against his middle. He squeezed Nicolo hard to him, his cock quivering and somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard himself growling, “Mine mine mine.”

Nicolo came with a moan, spilling over Yusuf’s leg. 

The sensation of wet and the feel of Nicolo crushed to him...

Yusuf rutted, groaned and came hard. His release streaked between their bodies and dribbled hot down Nicolo’s buttocks. And that tipped something further inside Yusuf, like a string snapping. He came again, this time with a sob. 

Too much, not enough, more, more.

Yusuf's heart begged to lay claim on Nicolo over and over, but his body begged for mercy; he has never come twice this close together. His legs trembled. His head felt too heavy on his shoulders. Even his beard sat too tight on his face.

Rest. Just for a bit.

Yusuf rocked against Nicolo, a dazed rhythm-less pace, blindly seeking more than the glide of cock and body.

Nicolo was limp within Yusuf’s arms, swaying almost absentmindedly with Yusuf, riding Yusuf’s wet thigh until the friction against his sex was too much.

“Yusuf,” Nicolo whimpered. His hands flopped away from Yusuf’s hips. He sighed shakily as he was turned around. Drowsy eyes blinked slowly back at Yusuf. His eyes were the color of calmer storms now, a tranquility was slowly returning.

"The look of you. I can not claim the bliss heavy on your skin. That was you," Yusuf murmured. He slotted his mouth over Nicolo's, gently suckling the shy tongue slipping into his mouth. He smoothed a hand over Nicolo's buttocks, smearing the lingering fluid on warm flesh. He felt Nicolo lean into his hand, craving, seeking.

"No," Yusuf groaned as he made himself pull back from the sweet heat of Nicolo's mouth. "As much as I want, my hands are too dry. Later, I promise."

Yusuf saw the question in Nicolo's eyes and he knew Nicolo did not make the connection to the stream. Not yet. 

"Maybe after a bath?" Yusuf suggested, smirking when Nicolo huffed. "Look down at your lovely body. Truly another bath is in order. No rag can clean that mess. Although I would generously try if you like." 

Yusuf grinned, his eyes crinkling at Nicolo's eyebrow.

"With my tongue," Yusuf added. "I offer to lap you up like a sweet treat and make you scream loud enough to startle the people in the next village."

"A bath. Fine," Nicolo muttered, dropping his head on Yusuf's chest.

Ah well. Next time, perhaps. Yusuf kissed a pinked ear. "But first, an afternoon meal. We will need to keep our strength up."

"For a bath?" Nicolo sounded suspicious. He also sounded sleepy. His poor Nicolo. Breaking fast was unexpectedly eventful this morning.

"Oh yes," Yusuf murmured as he swung a leg over Nicolo's hip so he could cocoon Nicolo within the huddle of his body. "Most definitely." 

Nicolo sighed but only mumbled something over Yusuf's heart. 

Yusuf felt overheated, immensely satisfied. But he gladly tugged the blanket over their entwined bodies when Nicolo tried to hide a shiver. Nicolo still tired easily and always tried to hide the fact he feels chilled when fatigued.

"Rest for now," Yusuf whispered. He pulled the blanket over their heads. "Food later?"

Nicolo exhaled, sinking into sleep.

Until...

"...usuf?"

"Hm?"

"Were you not to go to the village today?"

"Eh, I will go tomorrow."

"...that was what you said yesterday."

“I do not think this is a bath.”

Yusuf flicked water across the pool to Nicolo. He chuckled at the mild frown Nicolo gave him.

“Now you do look like a disgruntled cat,” Yusuf remarked as he tried to wade closer to Nicolo, stopping when Nicolo gave him another look. They only dug a small outlet off the stream for bathing, but Nicolo stayed as far back in the pool to wash. He grumbled he had never taken this many baths before. Yusuf wanted to point out most did not involve any washing.

Nicolo rolled his eyes—how Yusuf adored that look—but any ire that might have followed the look was absent as he glanced over to Yusuf.

“Hm?” There was an urge to draw that surprised Yusuf. His left hand twitched. He pulled his hand to the water.

“You said before your hands were too dry?” Nicolo frowned, his thoughts inward. “We have only done this in the water.”

“Surely you remember our bed held many memories of what we have done out of the water as well.” Yusuf drawled. He chuckled under his breath at Nicolo’s flush. He splashed more water towards Nicolo, this time reaching the damp brown hair.

“Yusuf,” Nicolo sighed. He ran his hand through his hair. Or tried. He caught a tangle. He huffed.

“I meant with your fingers,” Nicolo chided as he reached up with both hands and tried to find the source of the knot.

“I have done many things with my fingers,” Yusuf snickered when Nicolo shot him an exasperated look. That one was new. The longing to put it on paper was overwhelming. He hastily cleared his voice.

“But yes, in you, only here.”

Nicolo, his hands still buried in his own hair, blinked down at the water rippled around his waist.

“This is just water,” Nicolo said, but his words lilted in the end into a question. He was about to say more when he winced. He tugged a hand and huffed.

“And you mocked me for the comb I bought in that town,” Yusuf teased. It was one of the few possessions that stayed with him all these years.

“It takes up space in packing.”

“It is but a small thing!”

“You are always looking for it. You would not leave until you find it even though our inn burned over our heads,” Nicolo grumbled.

Now it was Yusuf’s turn to roll his eyes.

“It was just the one wall burning and our room was not even close to it.” Yusuf grimaced in sympathy when Nicolo yelped under his breath; a snare refused to unravel.

Nicolo gave up. He abruptly dunked his head in the water.

Yusuf burst out laughing when Nicolo reappeared.

“Stop, stop,” Yusuf managed between chuckles. “You are making it worse. You look like one of our chickens decided to nest on your head.”

“I can not reach. It is on the back of my head,” Nicolo complained. “If I was not taking this many baths, my hair would not be in such a state.”

“If you comb it first before tying it back, your hair would be like mine.”

Nicolo squinted at Yusuf, his eyes going up and then slid away.

“A thousand combs would not make my hair as nice to touch as yours,” Nicolo mumbled. He tugged at a lock that somehow caught a leaf shard that was floating in the water.

Ah, Nicolo. Yusuf caught himself grinning like the fool Nicolo said he sometimes looked. Nicolo chooses words carefully, but when he says things without thought but unknowingly with so much heart, Yusuf wanted to savor every syllable that tumbled out of his mouth.

Yusuf hesitated. He took a deep breath.

“Would you like me to try?”

Nicolo’s eyes flicked over to Yusuf. He paused as if to think, but almost immediately it became a nod. He waded across to Yusuf, bare feet light on the pool bottom.

Nicolo walked with an easier, looser limb gait these days, his nudity now often a second thought. He was awkward about it when they first traveled together. Yusuf obliged with bathing in separate sections of the river because the scruffy pale man’s modesty had amused him.

When did that amusement smoldered into this desire?

Yusuf watched Nicolo’s approach. It was a short distance, but his eyes greedily soaked in how Nicolo’s pink cock hung between his lean legs, how the ridge of his hipbones moved under his skin. He often slouched, stooping his shoulders, giving him a quiet and weary look. Yusuf suspected it was a habit born from a cold childhood raised in an ascetic monastery where quiet and invisible meant food and a clean bed.

Such a life steered Nicolo to priesthood and then led him to become the Church’s knight. And such a life still cultivated a generous heart that wept at the bloodbath and later brought him to Yusuf, where he stayed and was content to remain by Yusuf and share their forever.

Yusuf’s chest was suddenly too big, too full as he considered what he has. So when Nicolo stopped short in front of him, smiling hesitantly, Yusuf caught his surprised face between his hands and kissed him.

“ _Hobi_ ,” Yusuf breathed before pressing lips to startled ones. “My heart. My moon. How are you here before me? Thank you. Thank you.”

Nicolo used to freeze under Yusuf’s mouth but would gradually fall into the kiss.

Now, Nicolo’s mouth parted the moment Yusuf’s lips touched his. Nicolo’s mouth opened under Yusuf as natural as breathing. Nicolo’s kiss went from shy to eager, Yusuf found himself panting when his kiss was returned tenfold.

Wet arms wrapped around Yusuf’s neck. Slick limbs stretched to balance in the water. And they rutted against each other, as natural as the way their mouths found each other. They swayed, the water around them like cool silk on overheated skin.

Yusuf’s hands cupped the swell of Nicolo’s buttocks, lifting Nicolo just enough so their cocks could feel each other fill and grow thick with need. So soon after the morning had drained their bodies. So they thought. Apparently not.

Nicolo sighed as he folded into Yusuf, his knees bending and straightening as if debating climbing Yusuf and oh, he would welcome it, would yield to Nicolo if it meant he could gobble Nicolo’s slender cock down his throat sooner.

“I would drink you empty,” Yusuf murmured into the curve of Nicolo’s throat. He lapped on the moisture clinging to the column of Nicolo’s throat.

“I would suck you until your cock could feed me no more.”

Nicolo quietly panted, his eyes squeezed tight, his hips jerking towards Yusuf.

No, Yusuf did not intend to coax Nicolo over to be devoured, but his sex throbbed with the idea. He gasped into Nicolo’s mouth, trying to gather sense and logic as he reluctantly pulled his lips away.

Nicolo understood and what a miracle Nicolo shared the same mind with Yusuf when decades ago they struggled to convey even the simplest thought.

“Your hair,” Yusuf groaned. He placed a palm on Nicolo’s flushed face. He tucked a damp strand behind Nicolo’s ear.

“My hair,” Nicolo panted. He visibly pulled himself together. “Yes.” His hands flopped on Yusuf’s shoulders to be signaled to be let down. He sank back into the pool and turned around to sit on the boulder, his semi-erect cock now sadly out of reach of Yusuf’s.

“Thank you,” Nicolo said breathlessly.

“Of...of course.”

Yusuf’s hand shook as he reached back on the grass for the ivory toothed comb that fit his palm. It was a five prong piece in a half moon shape, impractical in Nicolo’s eyes, yet Yusuf caught him cleaning sand out of its grooves once In Damascus.

“Tell me if I pull too hard,” Yusuf murmured as he gathered the ends of Nicolo’s hair. He squeezed the excess water and let the ends spread out into a brown fan in his palm.

Yusuf started careful, just using two prongs to carefully seek out the tangles that vexed Nicolo. He listened for any sharp intakes of breath, any uttered sounds of pain. There were none. Nicolo’s shoulders were relaxed into his quiet slouch again, his arms down to his sides, his back resting on Yusuf’s thighs.

Yusuf’s cock brushed along Nicolo’s shoulder blades.

Nicolo fidgeted. “Yusuf?”

“Sorry, my knee.”

Yusuf ran two fingers down the longer sections of Nicolo’s hair. A finger caught.

Nicolo hissed but it stopped quickly.

“Sorry,” Yusuf murmured. He kept his eyes on the shape of Nicolo’s shoulders. They stayed relaxed and the tension in his chest eased. He scooped water and let it trickle down Nicolo’s scalp.

“I thought the water makes it worse,” Nicolo said but he remained where he was.

“Tossing your head in the water like how you scrub dirty clothes makes it worse,” Yusuf corrected. “A little water in the right spot helps smooth things.”

With one of the prongs at the side, Yusuf carefully picked out the knots that gnarled close to Nicolo’s scalp.

“Looked like Yazim’s cat spat out one of its infuriating hair balls,” Yusuf noted. He cleared his throat after he heard himself.

“It is fine,” Nicolo was quiet. “I do not mind you talking about Cairo. Not everything was horrible.” He sank back against Yusuf’s thighs.

“Even if you have an unreasonable dislike of her cat,” Nicolo continued lightly. “It liked me.” He grumbled when Yusuf bumped his knees behind Nicolo. Nicolo flailed before regaining his balance.

“It is not unreasonable,” Yusuf huffed as he ran the comb through the hair he cradled in his grip, “That wicked cat has the habit of trying to trip me at each step. I think it knew of our condition and wanted to topple me over to witness me coming back from a broken neck.”

Nicolo scoffed. Yusuf ran fingers through Nicolo’s hair. The water has darkened Nicolo’s hair to almost black, making the threads of sun lightened hair glint like gold.

“I wish you would consider a braid,” Yusuf said as he held the ends of Nicolo’s hair. “It will be long enough soon.”

“It takes you all morning to do yours,” Nicolo pointed out. “I fed the chickens and cast the nets and you were still fixing it because it is uneven.”

Yusuf scoffed. “And you tie your hair back as bristly as a bare fig tree. And has more ruffled hair than Yazim’s cat.”

Nicolo sighed and went quiet again.

Despite what Yusuf said, Nicolo’s hair was not in as sorry of a state as he often claimed. It was the color of dark woods he has seen on fantastical curios from the Orient. And after the hair dried, they shyly curled up at the tips in different directions and swayed against Nicolo’s nape each time he moved.

“A braid...I tried one when you went into the village once.” Nicolo audibly swallowed. “Did I tell you they liked to pull my hair while they, while I serviced them? I-I can not remember.”

“You did.” Yusuf settled a spread hand on top of Nicolo’s head and gave the scalp a gentle scratch.

“The braid...” Nicolo inhaled unsteadily. “It pulled my hair.” After a moment, Nicolo added in a smaller voice, “I threw up.”

“My left boot needs a trim,” Yusuf said, “to match my right. We could use the leather, dry a few ties. I need one for my braid.”

Nicolo leaned back briefly, his shoulders brushing Yusuf’s torso, before he sat up straighter.

Yusuf dropped his arms over Nicolo’s shoulders from behind. He said nothing, let the weight on Nicolo tell the words. Then he stood away, his hands returning to inspecting Nicolo’s hair with light fingers.

“Do you think Yazim is all right?” Nicolo asked later.

“She fared well before we arrived. Her and that demon will be fine without us.” Yusuf brushed his thumbs through Nicolo’s hair close to his ears.

“We did not leave quietly,” Nicolo reminded Yusuf.

“But we did not leave enemies behind who care enough to look for us,” Yusuf returned. He tapped the comb’s teeth against the hair. He cupped more water and let it flow over Nicolo’s head. He watched Nicolo’s hair go from brown to black again.

“Yusuf...”

“Hm?” Yusuf found another knot and coaxed it to unravel between his thumb and finger.

“The water. I understand now.”

“Do you?” Yusuf murmured. “A shame. I wanted to demonstrate.”

Nicolo huffed. “You have. Many times.” He tipped his head up and gazed at Yusuf upside down. His hair dipped into the stream.

“Thank you for being careful with me.” Nicolo blinked slowly.

Yusuf dropped a kiss on Nicolo’s brow. He cupped the back of Nicolo’s head and prodded him to sit up again.

“Almost done.” Yusuf skimmed the comb down Nicolo’s hair to pull the extra water out. He gathered up Nicolo’s hair once more in a careful grip. “Your hair will soon be past your shoulder.”

Nicolo leaned back and Yusuf’s cock skimmed the sensitive skin on Nicolo’s nape. Nicolo jumped.

“That was not your knee.” Nicolo narrowed his eyes.

Yusuf kissed the top of Nicolo’s head instead of replying. He set the comb aside and turned Nicolo around.

“All done,” Yusuf murmured. He brushed careful fingers through Nicolo’s hair and was relieved how they ran all the way through.

Yusuf crooked a finger under Nicolo’s chin.

“Yes. The water.” Yusuf’s other hand skimmed across the surface that rippled between them. “I thought the stream would aid things.” Yusuf hesitated. “There are many things one could get: oils or lotions that would help parts of our bodies relax, but water we have and at reach—it helps slick up our fingers and...and cocks to...”

“To help.” Nicolo raised a hand and splayed it on Yusuf’s stomach. “They...did not plan to do that with me.”

Yusuf brushed back hair away from Nicolo’s eyes. “I am sorry.”

Nicolo tucked his face against Yusuf’s chest. He curled an arm around Yusuf’s thighs. He breathed out slowly.

Yusuf continued slipping his fingers through Nicolo’s hair.

“Do you want to go back into the house?” Yusuf asked, his hand curved around the back of Nicolo’s head.

“I thought you were going to show me,” Nicolo said against Yusuf.

“We have all the time,” Yusuf murmured. “There is no time line between you and I. Only how many years together we are gifted. I would be more than glad to use each day to show you something new and wonderful. All I ask for is your smile when I wake up, a smile when I go to sleep.”

“What if...” Nicolo lifted his head enough to gaze up. He ran his tongue over his lower lip. He seemed to have come to a decision.

Yusuf swallowed as he felt Nicolo’s half-aroused cock brushed against his knee.

“I...” Nicolo bit his lower lip. “I liked it when you touched my hair.”

“Oh,” Yusuf stuttered. “That is...that is good. Yes.”

Yusuf’s hands held Nicolo’s shoulders, but he wanted to slip them under Nicolo’s arms and haul him up to his feet.

“So the stream, right now. Would it help me?”

“Help?” Yusuf croaked.

Nicolo kept two fingers up and traced Yusuf’s ribcage like a pen. Nicolo drew fine lines along the dark line of hair below Yusuf’s navel and went lower.

“Are my hands too dry?” Nicolo whispered. He curled his hand loosely around Yusuf’s cock.

Yusuf’s throat worked. The water around them did nothing to soothe his overheated skin. He tightened his hands around Nicolo’s shoulders. His heels dug into the bottom of their pool as he widened his stance.

“Your hands are perfect,” Yusuf rumbled. He felt Nicolo hesitating, his burst of boldness faltering at the base of Yusuf’s cock.

“Reach behind me,” Yusuf rasped.

Nicolo’s fingers stuttered along the length of Yusuf’s cock.

Yusuf dropped a hand around Nicolo’s nape, the other curled around a wrist. His thumb rubbed the bony joint.

“You let me explore you, an adventure I will never tire of.” Yusuf tugged Nicolo’s hand around, guiding it to his ass. “Right here, _hobi_ , everything lays before you, begging for your touch. I invite you, no, I beg you to explore my body.”

“What...what do I do first?” Nicolo’s voice shook like the finger tucked between Yusuf’s cheeks. He tentatively brushed the tip up the crack, to the top and stopped.

Yusuf groaned. The water around him vibrated as his lower body clenched.

“That is a good start,” Yusuf managed. He breathed out sharply as Nicolo repeated the hesitant touch. “You can go in, it would not hurt me. The skin between is very sensitive.”

Yusuf reached around and smoothed a hand over the dimples on the top of Nicolo’s ass.

“Remember?” Yusuf said hushed.

Nicolo ducked his head.

“But you used your tongue. I...” Nicolo swallowed hard.

The water felt lukewarm with Yusuf and Nicolo’s bodies this close together. But Nicolo’s finger felt hot as it slipped further, almost snug between Yusuf’s cheeks. He pressed the pad of his pointer finger, applied pressure and traveled down to linger behind Yusuf’s sacs.

Yusuf gave a guttural groan. He pulled Nicolo closer so he could rest his fevered cheek against Nicolo.

Yusuf heard himself from faraway when he whispered into Nicolo’s ear.

“Do you feel my hole?”

Nicolo nodded against Yusuf’s jaw. He gulped, the motion brushing against Yusuf’s throat.

“Use your finger, trace the shape, like I did.” Yusuf huffed shakily. His knees shook. Nicolo’s cock was hard, heated even under the water. It tapped against Yusuf’s.

Nicolo’s hands were larger, long fingers almost luminescent against Yusuf’s skin. Yusuf seen them wrap firmly around a sword, awed around the rough spines of manuscripts, shy around his cock, tender on Yusuf’s skin.

Yusuf kept Nicolo close, his hand still on Nicolo’s wrist, steering him lower. He felt Nicolo’s pulse race. Against Nicolo, the erection pressing against Yusuf waned.

“You will not hurt me,” Yusuf murmured into Nicolo’s hair. “You are fine. Here. Feel my finger? Follow it, yes, ther—Nicolo, y-yes, that is good.”

A finger trembling even under water, tapped Yusuf’s rim nervously, following the puckered shape. Over and over, as if counting ridges and inspecting.

Yusuf gulped. He fought not to flex and stay relaxed, but Nicolo’s touch with the coolness of the water made his hole spasm weakly, seeking.

“Nicolo,” Yusuf groaned, “There. Right there, do you feel it? Do you feel how it shivers? Do you feel how much it needs to swallow? Your finger. There.”

Yusuf dropped his face over Nicolo’s shoulder. He would accuse Nicolo of teasing him if it were not for the minute shivers beating against his skin.

“Sh, you are good,” Yusuf managed, his voice unsteady, growing breathless. “Just press it in. No, no, no, that is normal. I am fine. Sh...”

The natural resistance from Yusuf’s body had pinched his hole tight when Nicolo’s finger gently probed, nudging in a tip.

The water made Yusuf slick, loose from soaking in the stream longer than necessary. Yet his body resisted.

Nicolo jolted. Water splattered around them.

“Do not let me hurt you,” Nicolo begged over Yusuf’s heart. “Do not let me hurt you...”

“It is good,” Yusuf assured Nicolo. “Remember how it was for you? How strange it felt, but not painful? Just a bit more strength, a little twist—yes, a bit more, until, until...”

Yusuf’s breath hitched as Nicolo’s finger sank in the first knuckle. His ass clenched, catching the digit. He groaned as he took a deep breath.

“As I exhale, _hobi_ , push it in as deep as you can.”

Yusuf shook, both hands now curled around Nicolo’s arms. He huffed, sighing unsteadily as Nicolo’s finger slipped in, all the way until the rest of his hand stopped him.

It has been a while. The mild stretch in Yusuf’s ass was uncomfortable, but not unwelcome.

“Pull it out slowly, more, more—eh, stop there, hold it. Feel my body relaxing around it?”

“No pain?” Nicolo asked, tremulous.

Only if Nicolo did not move, but Yusuf merely shook his head. His head felt ten times bigger on top of his shoulders right now.

“You feel wonderful.” Yusuf groaned under his breath. He carefully rolled his hips back, huffing as the finger touched something core deep.

Nicolo’s eyes were glazed, turned inward as he began pulling his finger in and out, rotating it as he did. He pumped carefully, his face so solemn, lost in thought.

Yusuf choked back the moans and demands he wanted to make and stayed slumped against Nicolo. Nicolo’s finger felt around him, massaging and then—

“There,” Yusuf groaned. He felt his lower back arched, his buttocks flexing. There was that distant familiar bolt of heat and pleasure that lanced up from Nicolo’s finger to his head.

Nicolo shifted against Yusuf, stilling, waiting until Yusuf stopped shuddering.

“Good?” Nicolo whispered by Yusuf’s ear.

Yusuf grunted. He clenched around Nicolo’s finger.

Nicolo’s finger moved again, surer now. The strokes were still patient and slow. The finger pressed in deep, back to exploring and again—

It felt like the water was the only thing keeping Yusuf up. Fuzzily, he realized with Nicolo’s longer fingers, his reach was deeper, accurate, an intimate precision that made Yusuf’s mouth run dry thinking about it.

Slipping in deep, slowly pulling out and slower slipping back in, Nicolo’s pace was like himself. It was agonizingly patient, determined and firm, yet gentle as he twist his finger and massaged the bundle of nerves within Yusuf.

No one ever found it within Yusuf this quickly or treated it with such intensity. He feverishly tugged Nicolo’s arms, his mind fumbling for words.

“One more, one more,” Yusuf mumbled as he leaned into Nicolo’s finger. He gulped as he felt Nicolo’s second finger lingering unsure.

Yusuf parted his legs wider. He exhaled, feeling his insides unfurling as Nicolo’s second finger carefully slipped in.

The fullness wasn’t much, but it was Nicolo’s fingers in him, Nicolo’s low timbre rolling through him. He spoke in a mix of Arabic, Greek and a smattering of words Yusuf thought was from Nicolo’s homelands. It was a melody that wrapped around him as sweetly as Nicolo’s other hand curled around his aching cock.

Everywhere around him was Nicolo. His chest was too big, too full again. Yusuf clutched Nicolo tighter, panting as Nicolo’s fingers skimmed over that spot again and again. His cock jumped in Nicolo’s loose grip.

“Yes, so good,” Yusuf breathed. “Nicolo. Nicolo...”

Inside, Yusuf’s body seemed to shrink around the fingers moving slowly around him, searching for what, Yusuf was not sure. He would give Nicolo anything, everything for another minute of Nicolo’s fingers this deep, this personal, this sweet torment that was liquefying his bones, his nerves...

With a hoarse cry, Yusuf pulled Nicolo against his shoulder, his hips erratically rolling into Nicolo’s fist, his cheeks clenching in pace with the thrusts into Nicolo’s fist. Yusuf drove his cock into that grip. The water frothed around them, a rush of sound and droplets that caught sunlight.

Yusuf felt blinded and yet he saw everything with new clarity.

The overwhelming feeling grew, bubbling up from the pit of Yusuf’s stomach to his throat.

“ _Hobi, hobi, hobi..._ ” Yusuf groaned.

“Yusuf,” Nicolo said softly against his skin. “Show me.”

A perfect twist of fingers and a deep thrust and the world tipped over.

Yusuf’s release spilled into the water, into Nicolo’s fist. It pulled Yusuf’s very being out into Nicolo’s grasp.

He didn’t make a sound. He couldn’t. His air rushed out along with his release.

Knees buckled and Yusuf clutched Nicolo by the arms, this time so he would not sink to the bottom. They staggered to the side, panting loud against each other.

Their heads rested together. Nicolo stroked Yusuf’s cock, his finger and thumb smoothing down the length of Yusuf’s cock and milking him into the stream.

“...This...what you do for me...how you look. It was the same for me,” Nicolo murmured. He sounded thoughtful. He sounded uncertain.

“This was...good?”

Yusuf wanted to grab Nicolo, haul him up onto the grass and kiss him, align their bodies together and let the sun dry the water from their skin while he showed Nicolo how much it was the same.

But his bones still felt like they were made of paper, so he simply kissed Nicolo’s brow once, twice, trice.

“It was perfect, my heart.”


	28. (Nicolo) - Somewhere outside of Alexandria, 12th century

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mentions past child abuse in beginning

He dreamed of arrows, ink, the taste of Yusuf’s mouth and a tiny black cat within unblinking yellow eyes.

Nicolo sleepily considered the black and gray rooster strutting past their doorway. Yusuf has yet to find enough wood to build a sturdy door for the coming winter. It did not get as cold as the winters Nicolo vaguely remembered as a child, but he remembered what it was like to be cold and unable to sleep because the body shook too hard. Yusuf did not. Like starvation, Nicolo would rather Yusuf never experience it.

This time, Nicolo shared his concerns. Yusuf agreed they should start looking for materials to build a thick door and a larger hearth. 

For now, the small window was shuttered with what little wood was left from the table. They planned to move the jars of preserved food outside where they could stay chilled at nights. And they will dismantle the small hearth on the far wall and build a pit where the jars were. A larger fire and a door would help.

Nicolo pressed back into Yusuf’s body, his hands wrapped around the lightly furred forearm that went around his chest like a shield. Yusuf was safer than any battle armor or at least Nicolo thought so.

Yusuf mumbled against Nicolo’s nape. He sighed; whatever dream it was at least left him. Nicolo’s dreams were always interrupted by the sensation of Yusuf solid on his back, his arms around Nicolo. Even in sleep, Yusuf wanted to be sure Nicolo was safely tucked within his hold.

Yusuf’s nightmares were short, sharp and fast. By the time Nicolo roused and realized Yusuf’s sleep was bothered, Yusuf’s eyes have already dried and he was asleep again, murmuring and rubbing Nicolo’s arm to soothe _him_ back to sleep.

Outside, a hen squawked, their still nameless horse snorted back and the fig trees rustled in the distance. 

Perhaps eggs and flatbread for the morning. Yusuf will go into the village tomorrow with what fish Nicolo finds in the nets later. 

Yesterday, there was a plentiful catch flopping in the nets. When the sun started moving into the other direction, they lay on the grass, touching each other, slipping wet fingers into intimate places, aligning hands and cocks until the daylight started to yield to night. Then Nicolo set up new nets and retrieved the old nets while Yusuf checked on their traps. He rejoined Nicolo and they took the longer foot path back to their house as they discussed what to eat for dinner. 

Nicolo dug a shallow trench for their catch to swim in until it was time to barter while Yusuf prepared a fish so it was _halal_ and cooked it in their only pot with rice and squash. They fed each other wedges of sweet figs after. Then Yusuf planted tender kisses all over Nicolo’s body. His kisses tasted vaguely of figs and he left sticky stains all over Nicolo’s flank and spent cock.

Nicolo wiggled deeper into Yusuf’s hold. He blinked blearily out their doorway.

It was the same thing they did the day before. It would be the same thing the day after. 

An odd weight sat on Nicolo’s chest.

Yusuf said he was content to do this forever, but Nicolo felt a twist in his stomach as he watched himself fix nets, harvest figs and genty tsking at the hens tiptoeing after him for more feed.

It is a good life, Nicolo reasoned. It is an idyllic life. 

However, they were both shaped for such different lives. Yusuf could have been a trader or a creator of beautiful things and see faraway lands because he wished it, not because of dreams or hiding from nightmares.

Nicolo thought he was needed, but he did not learn where. The monastery gave him to the Church when they needed a priest. Then he gave himself to become the Church’s sword. He was certain his place in life was in service—

 _You did just that in Cairo, did you not,_ a voice pointed out. It sounded like Dirar.

A hitch in his throat, Nicolo turned around and curled under Yusuf’s chin.

Yusuf’s brow knitted in sleep, but he did not wake. He simply adjusted, his arms now linked around Nicolo’s lower back. His legs shifted, bending and somehow finding Nicolo’s. His knee slipped between Nicolo’s legs, his other leg shifting to drape over Nicolo’s hips.

“Sh,” Yusuf mumbled, his hands languidly rubbing down Nicolo’s back, fingers kneading the weave of Nicolo’s tunic.

“Nicolo,” Yusuf sighed and pulled Nicolo in against the warm planes of his torso. He snuffled over Nicolo’s bent head and quieted.

Nicolo watched Yusuf’s beard as his throat worked, the tight curls shifting like dark sand. He reached up and touched Yusuf’s beard, pressing down on the plush curls that outlined under his cheekbones. 

Yusuf always looked like he could break out into a broad grin. He easily fooled many, startling them whenever his good humor vanish and stew into something more dangerous.

But here, holding Nicolo in his sleep, Yusuf looked soft, generous at heart with that spark of creativity that didn’t have a place among casting nets and picking figs.

Nicolo stroked Yusuf’s beard around his mouth. The hairs under his round tipped nose (even his nose looked cheerful) was coarser. He often rolled his eyes when Yusuf insisted he needed two combs for his beard. Touching the hair that crowned the upper lip, Nicolo understood now.

I can watch him forever, Nicolo thought. And he believed Yusuf would in return.

But there was only long and so much they can do like this. 

It is a good life, but...

Nicolo pulled his hand away and tucked his face over the tunic in search of Yusuf’s heart.

A hand cupped the back of Nicolo’s head and guided him to Yusuf’s heart. Nicolo breathed out, turned his face and listened.

“Morning, _hobi_ ,” Yusuf murmured drowsily. His hand combed down Nicolo’s hair. He did not ask what troubled Nicolo so early. He merely stroked Nicolo’s head idly, his other arm around Nicolo’s shoulders.

Nicolo listened to Yusuf’s heart beat serene against his ear. Yusuf’s legs shifted again. Nicolo blinked down at the tented fabric of Yusuf’s trousers.

“Pay no mind to it,” Yusuf mumbled as he petted Nicolo’s hair. “Mornings can perk up one’s body, but it is not a request for something more. It will relax into nothing soon enough or I will step outside if we do not wish to deal with it.”

Nicolo nodded to himself.

“I had it once,” Nicolo said. He gazed down at the space their bodies created.

“Once?” Yusuf chuckled low. “Surely more? In our travels together, I’ve woken up many times, ahem, like this.”

It was true. Nicolo remembered staring across their cold campfire outside of Genmar, about to wake Yusuf for his morning prayers when Yusuf had rolled over, sleeping unbothered about his former enemy. Yusuf’s legs shifted and robes fell back and Nicolo found himself staring at an intimidating bulge straining Yusuf’s loose linen trousers.

Nicolo decided to wake Yusuf up by tossing the eaten rabbit bone into Yusuf’s ear from a safe distance. 

“You? Yes, enough times I blush simply remembering,” Nicolo admitted. “But me?” He shrugged. “It was before I was given to the Church for studies. I woke up with it once, but was not sure what to do.”

And a man Nicolo did not try hard to remember touched it. He then loosened his trousers and sweetly told Nicolo he is to return the favor. 

Yusuf was quiet. “I see.” He kissed the top of Nicolo’s head.

“One of the brothers in the monastery caught me touching his...” Nicolo pressed his ear harder into Yusuf's chest. He listened to Yusuf’s heart. It seemed faster. 

“They beat me.” Nicolo shrugged again. “They said I tempted him to sin. After I healed, they gave me to the Church and they strongly encouraged me to take studies of priesthood to repent.” It was either that or be left on the streets. Nicolo heard stories of how bright large eyes and hungry stomachs were lured onto ships, never to be heard from again.

Yusuf said nothing after Nicolo finished. Below his waist, his erection waned but it was still a warm weight between them.

Nicolo set a hand on Yusuf’s stomach and caught the deep steadying breath Yusuf took.

“How old were you then?” Yusuf asked too casually.

“It was long ago. I do not remember.” 

“Nicolo—“

“He is dead by now.” Nicolo felt Yusuf reluctantly nod. 

“I have not found myself like that since.” Nicolo breathed out slowly. He should not have said anything. 

“What do you think about eggs?” Nicolo asked abruptly.

“Nicolo—“ Yusuf rasped.

“I was thinking of having flatbread with it and the _za tha_ on the eggs.”

“ _Zaatar_ ,” Yusuf corrected automatically. “Nic—“

“Yusuf.”

Yusuf fell silent.

“I have enough memories to haunt me,” Nicolo murmured, “I do not wish for more. I am sorry for having upset you. I regret saying anything but please believe me when I say I do not think about it and I no longer worry about it.”

Yusuf sighed. “That you did once is enough to pain me, but all right.”

Yusuf’s hand returned to stroking Nicolo’s hair. He was deep in thought, his touch idle on Nicolo’s skin.

“Did it ever bother you to see me in this state?” Yusuf asked finally. 

Nicolo thought it over. He shook his head. 

"No, even in Cairo, it did not bother me. I was curious, maybe nervous, but it did not disturb my thoughts."

"Thank Allah," Yusuf sighed. “It bothers me how I must have blinded your eyes more than once.”

“Blinded?” Nicolo arched an eyebrow. “Do you see your body as a sun that blinds?”

“Well,” Yusuf returned lightly. “I have been often told I have a brilliant cock.”

Nicolo stilled. “What?”

“Uh...” Yusuf’s voice pitched higher. “Well, I mean, when I say told, I meant—“

Nicolo kept his head bowed.

Yusuf’s hand tapped the back of Nicolo’s head nervously. “I mean—“

Nicolo picked the ends of Yusuf's sleep tunic. The hem was starting to fray.

“Nicolo, it was meant to be...will you look up?”

Nicolo listened to Yusuf’s heart skipping faster.

“Nicolo,” Yusuf pleaded.

Nicolo pressed a smile over Yusuf’s chest.

After a moment, Yusuf growled. “Nicolo...look up.”

“I fear I can not,” Nicolo sighed. “I fear I might be blinded by your—“

Nicolo yelped when arms hugged him tight and rolled him onto his back. Yusuf panted happily as he held himself above Nicolo’s body. He kept his hips and cock away, his elbows on either side of Nicolo’s head.

“At least,” Nicolo sputtered, breathless, “I was spared the sight of your blinding cock.”

Yusuf snorted. He tapped Nicolo’s lips with a finger.

“I hope to be dazzled by this smile every day,” Yusuf murmured. “You beam with a light the sun would envy.”

Nicolo rolled his eyes. Yusuf and his words. “I know I am not smiling that broadly.”

“Ah, but that enigmatic smile is one you only give me and I treasure it like the ever rising sun. It speaks of forever.”

Nicolo tried, but his smile faded.

“Ah,” Yusuf mourned lightly, “it has set.” He eased onto his side close to Nicolo. He propped his head up and gazed down.

Nicolo grimaced. He covered his eyes with his arm. He sighed.

“What weighs your heart?” Yusuf murmured. He stroked Nicolo’s hip, his heat felt through Nicolo’s thin trousers. 

Nicolo counted the long, slow brushes of Yusuf’s hand. It was as if Yusuf knew. He did not stop, letting Nicolo count to ten before he could breathe easily.

“What are we doing?” Nicolo asked.

“I presume you are not referring to this,” Yusuf murmured. 

Nicolo felt Yusuf’s lips through his trousers. They pressed on a spot on his hip.

“Eggs? Figs?” Nicolo counted out loud. “Fish? Yusuf...”

“We are here to rest, _hobi_.” Yusuf captured Nicolo’s other hand. “Remember?” 

Yusuf kissed each finger of the hand he held. 

“And how long should that be?” Nicolo wondered. He could not help but sound bitter. “How long are you trapped here until I am no longer hysterical aga—“

“Sh sh sh,” Yusuf whispered. He pulled Nicolo’s arm down from his eyes. Yusuf gazed down with open concern.

“You are not hysterical. And trapped? Do you see chains on me? Why do you say I am trapped?”

Nicolo rolled partially towards Yusuf. He idly touched Yusuf’s beard.

“Eggs, figs and fish,” Nicolo said sadly. He wished he knew what else to say.

Yusuf lowered himself down. He pillowed his head with a bent arm. He studied Nicolo.

“It will not always be that,” Yusuf promised.

Nicolo smiled faintly. “No?”

“I was thinking we should get a goat as well.”

Nicolo groaned. He squeezed his eyes shut.

Yusuf laughed softly. He turned his head and kissed Nicolo's fingertips that were petting his beard.

“I know, I know. This house, the village, it is only a respite. When the women find us, we will go with them and perhaps with them, we will find a new path.”

“And...” Nicolo bit his lower lip. “If we...if they...what then?”

Yusuf reached over and traced Nicolo’s mouth with his thumb.

“Then you and I will create our own path. I trust we will be able to see where our compass will point to next.” Yusuf tweaked Nicolo’s nose.

“Or get a goat. I miss eating cheese.”

Nicolo scoffed wetly. He nodded, opening his eyes and found endlessly kind ones gazing back.

“Maybe get another horse?” Nicolo rasped. “Your horse must be lonely.”

“That is why I suggested a goat,” Yusuf replied airily. “Let something kick the horse for a change.”

Nicolo found it easy to smile again. “Perhaps it is a sign of affection?”

Yusuf grunted. “A sign of affection is...” He kissed Nicolo’s hand. He has not released it yet. “Equine teeth marks on my ass are not.”

“He never tried to bite me,” Nicolo wondered out loud.

“That is because the beast fell under your spell as well. It is understandably enamored with you. But I do not see him as my competitor.”

Nicolo arched his eyebrow again. Yusuf turned Nicolo’s hand and kissed his palm. 

As he leaned in, his covered erection brushed against him. Nicolo twitched.

“I will be only a moment,” Yusuf murmured. He started to rise until Nicolo's hand touched his stomach.

"Or we could take a bath," Nicolo said. He traced the outline of Yusuf's cock outside the trousers. Interestingly, the swell lifted the fabric more, stretching it tighter. And something coiled rich and hot in his belly.

"A bath?" Yusuf went high-pitched again for some reason. "W-what about the eggs? Are we not breaking fast with eggs?"

"I think I am not hungry for eggs today." Nicolo's finger trailed the sharp jut in the trousers. Over and over. He stopped when Yusuf whined deep in his throat. 

"Nicolo," Yusuf whispered. His voice shook at how hard he tried to keep his voice steady. "My Nicolo, my heart, are you sure?"

Nicolo turned his hand and ran the back of his hand up the length of Yusuf's erection. A damp spot started to spread and he found himself gulping, mouth drying at the strong scent of Yusuf's sex filling the space between them.

"Let us go outside," Nicolo murmured, "And let me show you."

“If you do not do something soon, I may regretfully have to kill you.”

Nicolo’s eyes tipped up, past the cock he held within his loose fist, to Yusuf’s flushed face.

“Should you be making threats to one holding your...” Nicolo carefully squeezed the head of Yusuf’s cock. He felt it twitched in his hands. It felt hot and larger than he remembered when it was in his mouth.

“I would promise you a limb if you would do more than hold it,” Yusuf said with a rush, edged with a franticness that gave Nicolo pause.

Nicolo rested his head against Yusuf’s left knee folded over his shoulder. It was a reversal in positions that sat strangely in his chest. It was usually him with his head rested on the edge of the pool, held afloat with his knees over Yusuf’s shoulders.

Water splashed across Nicolo’s face, startling him. He glowered up the length of Yusuf’s body at the smirk.

“I feel I should be offended,” Yusuf declared as he placed his right knee back over Nicolo’s shoulder after slapping his heel on the water. “While it is flattering you are mesmerized by my magnificent cock, I hoped it inspire you to act, not neglect it.”

Nicolo cupped Yusuf’s cock. He lightly squeezed the tip again and watched a white bead of glistening fluid formed at the slit.

Yusuf’s left leg slipped off Nicolo’s shoulders. Yusuf gulped, his throat working. It did interesting things to the rest of his body.

Nicolo never took a good look at Yusuf’s cock before. The two times he took Yusuf in his mouth was with a detachment. He stayed focused on Yusuf’s face, sucking hard to drown out the instructions whispered in his ear.

“It is darker than the rest of you. You barely fit in my hand and you grow still in my grasp,” Nicolo observed. He gingerly brushed a thumb over the slit. He watched another droplet of fluid appeared. “And smooth. Your cock feels like, like, what is the fabric you showed me In Damascus?”

“Wha?” Yusuf sounded dazed. Was he falling asleep?

“The soft one that felt like water. The one you insisted would look well with my eyes for some reason.” Nicolo’s mouth twisted. It sounded idiotic in his ears. “I am saying it wrong.”

Yusuf swallowed. He raised his head a little, blinked at Nicolo and dropped his head back to the grass.

“Silk,” Yusuf moaned. “How it felt inside you. It was silk.”

Nicolo repeated the word. Yusuf corrected him, or tried. He stammered too much that Nicolo suspected the pronunciation was worse than his own.

“Yes, like silk,” Nicolo smoothed his palm under the length of Yusuf’s cock. Yusuf squeaked and his thighs flexed. “Your cock does not have, uh...”

“I am cut,” Yusuf groaned. “I will happily explain later. _Hobi_ , if you do not do something soon, I will do it myself.”

Nicolo paused. “You would take yourself in your mouth?”

“I am desperate enough right now to learn to be that flexible.”

Yusuf’s left heel ran up the back of Nicolo’s legs and settled on the small of Nicolo’s back. It left him open, his cock in Nicolo’s hand, the nest of hair around it, fading to thin skin around the taint Nicolo barely saw nestled within firm cheeks. Yusuf looked exposed, more than with his knees over Nicolo’s shoulders. As he panted, his stomach rose and fell, his cock fluttering in Nicolo’s hand like a sleeping thing.

Nicolo gulped. There was that stirring between his legs again, that heat pooling between his legs, but he has not done anything yet.

“Yusuf...” Nicolo said, suddenly uncertain.

Yusuf’s cock slipped out of Nicolo’s nerveless grip as Yusuf sat up on the edge of the pool. He sat closer to the edge. His legs wrapped around Nicolo, his heels pulling him in.

Nicolo pressed his flushed face onto Yusuf’s thigh. This close, he could sense the heat of Yusuf’s erection waning by his ear.

“We do not have to do this if you do not want to,” Yusuf said quietly, his voice stronger. “We could use hands or I can do it myself.”

“I want to,” Nicolo gulped as he gestured towards himself. “I felt...but I did not do anything.”

“Yes, you did not,” Yusuf grumbled good-naturedly. “But it does not mean it did not do anything for you.”

Yusuf’s thighs gripped Nicolo’s sides, a heel slid up, gently following the line of Nicolo’s back.

“Remember what I said about trusting what your heart tells you?” Yusuf prodded. At Nicolo’s small nod, he added, “Then trust what it tells your body. Let it feel what it feels.”

“Your cock felt nice in my hand,” Nicolo confessed into the muscular thigh under his flushed cheek. He could not look at Yusuf. “And I felt very warm staring at you lying there, waiting for me.”

“My heart,” Yusuf groaned, “I waited only because your hand on my cock robbed me the strength of my legs. You had me at your mercy.”

Nicolo’s belly felt hotter at the thought. He bit back a sound when his cock filled.

“Oh,” Nicolo whimpered, “Yusuf.”

Yusuf’s voice lowered, a thick slow tone that reminded Nicolo of overripe figs slipping between his lips. They were sweet. Their taste lingered on his tongue even as they slipped down his throat.

“I could lay by your feet happily, my legs spread so you can do what you want. I would lay without a single cloth to cover me, my sex soft and waiting but for a glance of your eyes to fill.”

“Yu...” Nicolo’s breath hitched.

“I could come from a touch of your finger. My hole would swallow your fingers whole and let them sink deep into my body. You could watch me writhe in the grass, shackled to the grass not by chains but by your fingers laying claim inside me. I would make the most embarrassing sounds gratefully for another of your fingers plunging deep.”

Nicolo panted. He felt Yusuf’s erection returning thick and shedding heat against him.

Yusuf started to sound ragged.

“The thought of you exploring me with such care as you did, touching me as if I was your property, when I release, it will spill upon my belly in the script of your name, Nicolo di Genova. And I would gladly beg you to stain me with your seed until I am sloppy with it. Mark me as yours.”

Nicolo whined. He felt Yusuf lowered his legs into the pool. A bare calf hung in the water. Nicolo crowded closer to it and rubbed his aching cock against Yusuf's ankle.

“I would turn on my belly in joyous surrender, spread my legs and let you fit those long fingers into me. May you be generous and let me gobble those fingers into my hole. Or may you be wicked and make me lay there mewling like a kitten as you plunder. Anything. I would welcome it.”

“Stop,” Nicolo sobbed as he rutted along Yusuf’s calf. Even under water, the hair on Yusuf’s leg sparked tiny sensations along his cock.

Yusuf laid back with a sigh, his legs over the pool edge, his buttocks hanging over and skimming the water. And he was still talking in that rough, broken voice as if he had battled to be heard in a sandstorm.

“I am at the mercy of your touch, _hobi_ ,” Yusuf croaked. “Just the thought of what I would let you do to me does not fill me with shame but with a longing so strong, my cock weeps for it.”

Nicolo turned to face Yusuf. Yusuf’s cock jutted proudly out of the nest of his groin, his buttocks flexing on the water surface.

“Nicolo,” Yusuf moaned softly. “Why do you continue to neglect me?”

Nicolo spread his hands under Yusuf’s knees and pulled them back over his shoulders.

Yusuf started to pant. He reached down, fingers skimming Nicolo’s temples.

Nicolo studied Yusuf’s cock, engorged and leaking, a rosy dark length that curved slightly to the right. It was flat against Yusuf’s heaving stomach, the vein that followed the length pulsed visibly on it.

Nicolo dropped a kiss at the base, where the vein threaded out of the coarse hairs.

Under Nicolo’s chin, Yusuf’s sacs twitched, tapping his throat as he dropped another kiss higher.

Yusuf moaned. His thighs quivered, but remained on the grass when Nicolo slipped his palms over Yusuf's flanks in wordless command.

“I was never allowed the time,” Nicolo murmured over the cock. He marveled how it felt like—what was the word again, ah yes—silk and like forged steel underneath the heated skin. It throbbed like a living thing under his lips, shivering as he traveled to the tip. It wept still.

Yusuf’s breathing was harsh, loud in the morning air. The sun warmed his skin, but he shivered as if he was cold.

Nicolo tentatively licked the fluid gathered at the tip and felt Yusuf jump.

“Good?” Nicolo murmured as he did it again.

Yusuf replied with a broken, “Nicolo, please.”

Nicolo’s head buzzed as he slipped his lips around the cock’s tip, surprisingly plush against his lips where the rest was painfully rigid. He never noticed. He simply let his mouth drop open and let the cocks push in. They all felt like unforgiving hilts stabbing the back of his throat. He learned to take in their cocks in a single thrust. He took Yusuf’s cock the same. They never lingered or—

No.

Nicolo slammed the thoughts shut in his mind, buried them into a chest and cast it under endless sand. They have no place here.

“You and I,” Yusuf rasped out of nowhere, his voice stronger if yet still shaky.

Nicolo hummed, his tongue tracing the thick cock as he relaxed his jaw. Yusuf’s cock smelled musky, of fresh sweat, of a spice he could not identify. It was heavy, pressing Nicolo’s tongue to his bottom teeth as Nicolo slid down the erection.

Yusuf sobbed. His hands fluttered around Nicolo’s hair, his ears, his shut eyes.

Because yes, Nicolo let his eyes slid close and he listened and tasted in the dark. He did not wish to see Yusuf. Not now. Later because yes, there is a thumping in Nicolo’s chest that promised there would be many times later.

For now, Nicolo focused on the slow slide of Yusuf’s cock across his tongue. His jaw twinged. Yusuf was big in his mouth, only halfway in. A thrust would pry Nicolo’s throat wider to close around the erection.

Yusuf lay still, his legs shaking, his torso shuddering as he fought not to thrust. He shook under Nicolo, his voice garbling in high, nonsensical sounds. But he would not thrust.

Nicolo pursed his lips, mouthed “ _Hobi_ ” around Yusuf’s cock. He relaxed his lips, exhaled and let the rest of Yusuf’s cock slide all the way in.

Yusuf gasped, choking back the wail that hung on his lips. He moaned, again and again, his hands clawing his own thighs as Nicolo’s throat worked around the cock, his nose buried in the nest of Yusuf’s sex. The hair scratched, not as soft as his beard or thick as his hair, but it surprised him how it felt just as inviting.

Nicolo hesitantly brushed his fingers into the coarse hair above the base, massaging to the skin hidden underneath.

Yusuf yelped, his back arching, his hands flailing to reach Nicolo to push him away.

The abrupt jolt hit the back of Nicolo’s throat surprised him. His eyes flew opened. He flinched against Yusuf’s thigh.

“Nicolo?” Yusuf sounded panicked.

Nicolo breathed through his nose. He was fine. He swallowed and grasped Yusuf’s searching hand. He gave it a squeeze. Yusuf squeezed back. Then mewled as Nicolo swallowed again and again, coaxing Yusuf’s cock to slip back in deep.

“Ah, ah, Nico—“ Yusuf choked, panting as Nicolo pursed his lips tighter to form a band around his length.

Yusuf was close. Nicolo was not sure how he knew, but he felt Yusuf trembling under his fingers as he knead the groin, the bristly coarse hairs teasing his knuckles.

Yusuf babbled in a mix of Arabic and words Nicolo did not recognize.

Nicolo’s erection was agony between his legs by now. It bobbed in the water without relief. He pulled his hand away from Yusuf’s groin to curl around his own erection. Yusuf whined at the loss, but Nicolo compensated by hollowing his cheeks and...

“Oh, oh,” Yusuf cried out. “Please, please...”

Nicolo pulled at his own cock as he continued to knead Yusuf’s with his lips and tongue. He could feel Yusuf’s sacs drawing tight, no longer tapping under him.

Now, Nicolo thought. Now.

Nicolo’s other hand shook as he peeled it off Yusuf’s hip. Yusuf shuddered but did not thrust. He rolled his hips up, carefully shifting in Nicolo’s mouth as he spread his legs wider.

The dark taint of Yusuf’s hole was barely visible, despite Yusuf opening his legs wider. He was obscene displayed in front of Nicolo like this. Nicolo forgot about his fears of Yusuf moving too deep in his mouth. He rubbed his free hand in the water and pulled out his hand dripping wet.

“Uh, uh, Nic—Ah please, _hobi_ ,” Yusuf breathed out. His hands reached behind him and—oh.

Nicolo felt overheated, his own cock jumping in his grip as he stared at Yusuf spreading his own cheeks to reveal the puckered muscle. Yusuf shuddered as if the act cost him.

“Nicolo,” Yusuf moaned. “Please, please...”

Nicolo could hardly see, his damp fingers searching blindly, skimming the thin skin of Yusuf’s crack, the shy dip of his entrance. He pushed carefully as Yusuf had taught him, his mouth slack around Yusuf’s cock. He probed insistently, head spinning as Yusuf’s pleas blurred into a hungry keen.

Yusuf groaned, shaking as Nicolo’s finger slipped in.

Nicolo could not pick out details in his mind. Everything seemed to go faster, snatching thought. Yusuf’s cock twitched on his tongue, Yusuf’s insides clutched at his finger, his body smelled of musk, clean sweat and salty as if his skin wept around Nicolo.

The warm soft heat around his finger...

The weight of steel and silk on his tongue...

And Yusuf...his voice, the way his legs clung against Nicolo’s shoulders, begging him not to leave...the pin and needle prick of his groin against his cheek...

So much...so...Yusuf...Yusuf...

Nicolo came violently in his grasp. The water rippled around him. He gasped and his throat squeezed and his finger darted across the small spot inside.

Yusuf threw back his head and shrieked Nicolo’s name. He came in Nicolo’s throat, thick bitter fluid that bubbled up Nicolo’s nose, gushed out of the corners of his lips.

Nicolo swallowed. He swallowed and swallowed, his finger moving faster in Yusuf, his fist frantic around his own cock. He did what Yusuf did for him so many times.

Nicolo devoured. He gulped down Yusuf’s seed, pumped his finger faster within Yusuf and came again in a burst that buckled his knees.

The spent cock slipped out of Nicolo’s swollen lips as he collapsed face down onto Yusuf’s thigh. Nicolo’s finger gave Yusuf’s insides one last stroke before slipping free.

“Uh, uh, uh...” Yusuf panted. He could not say anything else.

Nicolo felt cum still trickling out of his mouth. He could not swallow it all. He heard Yusuf whispered Nicolo’s name, his hand weakly cupping the back of Nicolo’s head. Nicolo could not answer. Not yet. There was a thick cloud of Yusuf’s cum clinging to the back of his throat.

_"I also paid you to swallow."_

No, Nicolo thought. Not this time. He raised his head off the stomach and met Yusuf’s eyes. Yusuf looked dazed, but his fevered eyes cleared when Nicolo glanced over.

No one paid me, Nicolo thought. His cock pressed along Yusuf’s shin, stirred, weakly leaking the remains of his releases.

“ _Hobi_ ,” Yusuf rasped. He sounded wrecked. He lay limp under Nicolo. There was grass shards twisted within his curls.

Yusuf never looked more wonderful.

Nicolo smiled at Yusuf. He wiped the corners of his mouth clean with the back of his hand.

“Good?” Yusuf whispered in a hesitant echo of Nicolo.

Nicolo nodded and swallowed down the rest of the cum. He felt the bitter yet somehow sweet essence of Yusuf sink into his belly.

“It was perfect,” Nicolo croaked as he crawled up Yusuf’s body to give him a taste.

Yusuf gladly met him halfway.


	29. (Yusuf) - Somewhere outside of Alexandria, 12th century

“I am certain that beast is out to kill me.”

Yusuf caught Nicolo rolling his eyes. He was torn from climbing over Nicolo’s prone body on their bed or continue his torture. He decided the latter would reap more rewards for the both of them.

The faint nutty scent of the oil rose as it dribbled slowly down Nicolo’s crack and pooled into a golden droplet on the thin skin under his cock.

“I am sure...” Nicolo said in as steady as a voice he could with Yusuf gently massaging the spot, smearing slick oil around the stretched skin that cradled his balls.

“It is f-flirting with y—Yusuf,” Nicolo hiccuped, back arching, his buttocks canting up in plea.

“Mm,” Yusuf opted to say instead, distracted by how Nicolo’s back flexed and his buttocks quivered as the oil made its slow descent down from the puckered entrance to the fold created by the sacs and his body.

“I thought—“ Nicolo suppressed what sounded like a squeak. How charming. “You were going to show me something you learned in—Yusuf!”

Yusuf bit back the smirk when Nicolo turned his head to glare at him past his shoulder. 

“Sorry,” Yusuf said innocently. He pulled away oil-slicked fingers from where he was smoothing oil around the dark rim to Nicolo’s body. “You were saying?”

Nicolo raised his head and shoulders off his folded arms. He twitched as the position arched his lower back. His cheeks pressed the oil around his hole to go into places that made Yusuf flush all over.

“Oh, to envy that drop of oil,” Yusuf murmured. He lowered his head and dropped a kiss on Nicolo’s right cheek. It clenched on contact and when Yusuf nuzzled the dimples on top of the buttocks, rubbing his beard along the elegant curve of spine, Nicolo whined.

“Are...are you showing me,” Nicolo groaned, “Or preparing me to be tonight’s mea—“

Nicolo yelped when Yusuf’s tongue skimmed the top of his cleft and traveled up. 

“You _are_ delectable,” Yusuf rumbled as he brushed aside the hair. He laved Nicolo’s nape. He swung a leg over and straddled Nicolo’s legs.

“And I would enjoy eating you out again, _hobi_. Right now, I am famished.”

Yusuf set aside the small vial of olive oil on their table. He traded chores with the baker last week for more rosemary bread and was also gifted a bottle of olive oil. For dipping, the baker’s son explained. It was something he learned from his travels.

The bread was delicious. Yusuf felt something in his heart unravel when Nicolo ate the first piece and then stole the small bit left in Yusuf’s bowl. 

The oil? Yusuf had thought back to his youth. He remembered a trader’s handsome young son, a shed no one ever used and oil the youth skimmed off a jar from his father’s wares. 

Yusuf did not remember the young man’s face, but he remembered how the oil felt on his skin and how it made certain touches slip in easier and more tantalizing. They explored, fascinated what a man could do with another man with blunt fingers and dry lips. 

“We broke fast before,” Nicolo breathlessly reminded Yusuf as he rocked back against Yusuf’s growing erection. Oil down his cheeks, Yusuf’s saliva slick on his back, Nicolo rutted up into Yusuf with a swaying motion that mimicked the gentle bob of his body in the water. 

“Mm, but I am still hungry,” Yusuf murmured. He climbed up higher on Nicolo’s body, tasting and savoring the skin stretched along the broad shoulders and neck. 

Nicolo exhaled shakily, his head lowering to offer his nape.

Yusuf rubbed his cock along Nicolo’s spine as he slipped an arm around Nicolo’s middle. He felt Nicolo’s stomach flexed under his arm, his back curving to guide Yusuf with a silent plea.

Yusuf hummed as his cock found Nicolo’s cheeks. He swayed along the snug space, his cock spreading the oil around Nicolo’s hole down the entire length of his crack.

Nicolo lifted his upper body up on his hands, his ass embracing Yusuf’s erection. The clutch around his cock thrummed hot into Yusuf’s belly. He found himself moving faster, his cock brushing over the entrance with bolder strokes. 

The oil kept Nicolo unbelievably slick. It encouraged the two to glide against each other with increasing abandon.

“Yu...yu...” Nicolo panted. His buttocks clenched, stilling Yusuf’s cock as it brushed over his hole again. 

Yusuf groaned. He dropped his heated face on Nicolo’s hair. He murmured into the strands as he felt Nicolo shifting to get on his knees.

“Keep your legs closed, _hobi_ ,” Yusuf whispered. He rubbed Nicolo’s stomach, lower and lower into the taut muscle stretched around the base of Nicolo’s cock. He remembered how Nicolo’s fingers dug into his groin, massaging and wringing out the strongest bolt of heat Yusuf ever experienced. He pressed his fingers there, ignoring the erection tapping Nicolo’s stomach.

Nicolo moaned, shuddering as he fought not to part his legs. He trembled, trying to keep his legs closed as Yusuf asked.

Yusuf kneaded the firm flesh there, a hot swell of satisfaction when Nicolo keened. Yusuf knead deeper, shushing Nicolo when he sobbed.

“Wait,” Yusuf murmured. “Do not go without me. Wait.”

“Yusuf,” Nicolo stammered. “What...”

Yusuf was careful not to put all his weight on Nicolo as he lined himself over the other's body. He guided his cock to Nicolo’s thighs. The oil streaked down to his inner thighs. Sweat beaded on his pale skin. 

Yusuf hissed as his cock probed and slowly slipped in-between the narrow space Nicolo’s thighs created.

“Yusuf, what are—“ Nicolo stilled as Yusuf’s cock continued, brushed under his sacs and jutted out under Nicolo’s cock, between his legs.

Yusuf’s lips traced Nicolo’s nape. He pushed hair away, his other arm hugging Nicolo around his middle.

“Keep them closed,” Yusuf murmured, “Tighter, tigh—yes, like that...”

Yusuf started slow, his cock pushing through strong thighs until cool air teased his cock on the other side. The oil made everything smoother, but Nicolo’s strong grip around Yusuf’s cock made it better than he imagined.

Yusuf stroked carefully, making sure he teased the taint, gliding down to that sensitive skin before pushing through.

Nicolo was still, held close to Yusuf, holding himself up on his hands, kept stable on his knees by Yusuf’s wider stance bracketing his thighs.

The house was quiet save for the hushed exhales, the cut off “Oh, oh,” they both made. Their bodies lightly slapped together, wet sounds of slicked skin and limbs filling the air every time they glided into each other.

Yusuf’s cock was feeling the greatest pleasure and the greatest torment. The grip of Nicolo’s thighs squeezed beads of fluid out of his cock with each push. As the tip of his cock emerged, Nicolo’s own erection bounced over the tip. Yusuf’s arm around Nicolo was growing damp, gems of Nicolo's seed sprayed the hairs of his arm.

Nicolo’s breathing went harder as they continued, his body rocking back challenging each of Yusuf’s strokes. Nicolo’s buttocks flexed along with his thighs as if trying to capture Yusuf’s cock prisoner. 

Oh, and how Yusuf would surrender if Nicolo asks. He would gladly hold out his hands for binds and tumble into Nicolo’s body. He would beg for Nicolo to sink and conquer Yusuf from within.

“Yes,” Yusuf rumbled as he rutted. “Yes, gladly.” He pulled Nicolo closer, the heat and writhe of Nicolo’s body igniting sparks of pleasure everywhere their bodies touched.

Nicolo’s elbows shook. Yusuf hugged Nicolo, almost lifting his _hobi_ to his lap. He felt himself thrusting faster, his erection pushed to weep onto Nicolo’s front as it emerged out of the snug space.

Nicolo panted, marking each stroke with a huff of air. He sagged back against Yusuf, nearly collapsing into Yusuf’s lap. He clutched Yusuf’s arm around his middle. His other hand brushed over the head of Yusuf’s cock every time it slid out to poke out between his thighs.

Yusuf’s back ached keeping them both upright, thrusting between Nicolo’s legs while trying not to fall onto his back. Nicolo’s fingers kept teasing his cock, like a hunter trying to coax out his prey. Nicolo pressed and pinched what he could of Yusuf’s erection. It was a game; a glorious, back breaking quarry of pleasure. Nicolo kept trying to touch, Yusuf was torn from letting it happen and to continue pistoning.

The oil warmed on their skins. Yusuf was starting to tire. He was desperate to succumb to the billowing sensation on his lower back and splatter Nicolo’s front with his release. But Nicolo was not there yet.

Yusuf growled against Nicolo’s nape and pushed Nicolo back on his hands and knees. Yusuf thrust harder. His lower back started to burn with the strain. He searched, found Nicolo’s cock and took it as his.

Nicolo moaned, a low rolling sound that seemed to be pulled from his core. He panted as he eagerly thrust into Yusuf’s fist. He kept squeezing his legs, tighter and tighter, sending spots up Yusuf’s vision. It felt like his cock would burst.

“Yusuf,” Nicolo whimpered. He was a caught creature in Yusuf’s grasp, beating against a cage of his fingers, mewling to be released.

Nicolo was close now. Yusuf could feel Nicolo’s heart hammering into his own chest. Nicolo’s cock was hot, a hard length that threatened to break Yusuf’s grip.

They rutted, they choked around each other’s name and when Yusuf could not bear it any longer and came, Nicolo shouted as he gladly followed.

It felt like the world went silent around him until Yusuf realized his ears buzzed with the rush of blood. It felt like he was gorged, parts of him gutted. He was spent, yet Nicolo continued to weakly flex his thighs, milking Yusuf’s cock.

Below them, their releases made soft plopping sounds as their cocks wept over the bed. It would be a mess for later. Yusuf could not even find the strength to ease his cock out from Nicolo’s legs.

Nicolo quietly panted, on his hands and knees purely by stubbornness. 

Yusuf kissed Nicolo between damp shoulders. He drowsily ground into the thin skin between Nicolo’s taint and the base of his cock.

Nicolo groaned. His head hung low.

“I think we need another bath,” Nicolo grumbled. He turned to look back at Yusuf. Perspiration has plastered his long locks into his brow.

Yusuf chuckled airlessly. He kissed Nicolo’s shoulders, one on each blade as he tried to walk on his knees and pull out.

“I would be more than happy to _bathe_ with you but perhaps a nap first?”

“There were things I needed to do this afternoon,” Nicolo wheezed. “But I do not think I can even open my eyes.”

“Mm,” Yusuf hummed as he sat down, gasping to recover. He glanced over to Nicolo. He froze.

Nicolo stood swaying on his hands and knees. His thighs were rubbed red, raw, but the color was already fading. 

But it was the slouched back, the low hanging head that skewered Yusuf’s heart.

_"You will watch him as we invade this Frank, pillage his body, ransack his flesh and soul until all that is left is only fit for fucking," Dirar snarled, Nicolo half-naked and huddled on the floor in defeat._

_"I wonder why you did not have him, Yusuf." Dirar pulled out his finger. It was tipped in blood. Nicolo's head was almost to the floor._

_"He will tear beautifully."_

Dirar’s words physically hurt Yusuf’s ears. But it was Nicolo, defeated on his hands and knees, his eyes dead as he stared at Badhl’s engorged cock, that hurt Yusuf more.

It turned out to be a ruse. Nicolo broke free, joined Yusuf to fight. But that brief moment, that awful dark moment, something had wailed inside Yusuf. Something was cut, bled and mourned not for itself but for the one they failed.

“Yusuf?” 

Yusuf blinked and discovered Nicolo was in front of him, a hand holding back his own hair, blue gray eyes gazing back at Yusuf with open concern.

“You have exhausted me,” Yusuf lied. He brushed back a clammy strand behind Nicolo’s ear. “Do not ask me for my name. I can not remember it right now.”

Nicolo’s gaze flickered a cool blue, a mist of gray and green taking over as he studied Yusuf. He nodded slowly and surprised Yusuf by pulling Yusuf to his chest.

Yusuf groaned but did not pull away. He grumbled before he settled an ear over Nicolo’s heart as Nicolo so often seemed to favor. He tucked in, his shoulder under Nicolo, his hip pressed against Nicolo. Their legs stretched out, finding places for their ankles to tuck into each other.

He fits, Yusuf realized, as perfectly as Nicolo does against him. 

“We were shaped for each other,” Yusuf murmured. He followed where Nicolo’s hands nudged, into the corner their bed made with the walls, away from the small window, away from the open doorway and thankfully, away from the wet spot.

Yusuf slipped an arm around Nicolo. Nicolo was slippery with sweat, with oil, with their releases. He also smelled vaguely of almonds, of the last sliver of soap they shared in the bath last night. 

“You and I,” Nicolo whispered. He stroked Yusuf’s beard with a thumb. He wove his fingers with Yusuf’s other hand. Their clasped hands sat between their thighs pressed together. This close, Yusuf could not see a seam where Nicolo ends and Yusuf begins.

“You and I,” Yusuf repeated. He blinked furiously, trying to wipe the image of that Nicolo out of his mind. His heart thumped against his chest, howling for something Yusuf did not dare to heed. 

Yusuf pulled their hands to his mouth.

“ _Hobi_ ,” Yusuf breathed against their fingers. “My heart. My dearest heart.”

Nicolo rested his head against Yusuf, his heart beating serene and, Yusuf sincerely hoped, content.

Yusuf shooed the chicken who tried to peck at his foot. It tottered under the table and decided Yusuf’s big toe peering out of his sandals was food.

“He already fed you,” Yusuf chided the brown and black speckled bird. He waved a hand, blinking when it squawked back before doing a little hop and waddle out of the house. It was rather indignant for a hen. 

Another tried to totter in, shrieking when Yusuf shouted at it. It flapped away and left a few gray feathers fluttering to the doorway.

“A door is a definite must,” Yusuf muttered as he begrudgingly rose to his feet from the table to collect the feathers to be washed and dried later. Nicolo was bemused Yusuf wanted to make a new sleeping mattress stuffed with feathers. The villagers often traded a modest sack of the fluffy trinkets for a chore or two. Hopefully, Nicolo will have a small sack today.

Outside, the afternoon sun has kept the day warm and the dwelling comfortable. Nicolo has ventured into the village again, riding the horse without quarrel, much to Yusuf’s annoyance. The beast had tossed its head as Nicolo climbed on it after Yusuf’s many dire warnings about its temperament. 

It is good, Yusuf thought, that Nicolo was comfortable going out to the village. It is good Yusuf’s chest did not seize when he turns around and not find Nicolo right there.

It was impractical, Yusuf reasoned, to always go to the village together. The horse tolerated Nicolo, it seemed to find snapping teeth towards Yusuf appealing. Many baskets tipped over this way. Yusuf heals, of course, but it was still irritating. 

Nicolo left in the morning with fish they have dried and a few melons they could not eat themselves. Hopefully it was enough to barter for some wood. Enough for a door. 

Nicolo woke up shouting last week. And then picked up the intruding hen off his head and tossed it towards Yusuf who was slow to wake. Nicolo wore him out the night before. Yusuf returned the favor that morning and repaid Nicolo for the rude clucking awakening that evening. Nicolo unintentionally exacted revenge. He slept through the rooster’s shrill crowing that next morning. Yusuf had to chase the wretched bird away from their door for once.

Yusuf scoffed as he continued with his task of pulling out their packs to determine what, if any, needed repair. The women they dreamed about now appeared to be in a colder climate. Their provisions needed to be adjusted.

Unless the women refused to accept Nicolo, then the packing is for naught.

The small smile on Yusuf’s face faded. 

No, Yusuf thought fiercely, they would accept Nicolo. Of course they will, how would they not? They would have seen everything Nicolo had done and know the torment in each of his actions.

If it was anyone they would not accept, it should be _Yusuf_.

Yusuf breathed out as he examined the bottom of his sack, frowning at a stitch that was unraveling.

It would not matter, Yusuf told himself, if the women reject either one of them, they, in turn, would reject the women if they do. Who are they to judge their actions? Nicolo was his own harshest judge and Yusuf has judged and already determined his own crimes.

“Naïveté,” Yusuf condemned himself. He assumed the best and ignored the worse. He thought moving from city to city was a good life. He thought they would be happy wherever they settle next and free to indulge on things they could not afford to do in their early years. Youth flows into maturity and with it, the unwieldy weight of responsibility hung over their necks, bowing their backs. 

Immortality meant embracing what they could not dare to in their youth, when they thought time was limited. 

Yusuf welcomed the chance to coax beauty out of dull paper, tease ink into life and watch the fruits of his labor marveled by others. Nicolo, as if fearing the audacity of saying such things, had once whispered across a campfire that he would like to read everything out there, without fear of consequences. 

So Yusuf steered them to each city, to visit every library it has to offer to also search for any knowledge about their conditions. He enjoyed how Nicolo flushed with disbelieving joy at how books were readily shared. Yusuf took guilty pleasure at teaching Nicolo what words he could that puzzled Nicolo. Nicolo always sought for Yusuf to translate even if it was a language they both did not know.

A small leather wrap unfurled, revealing the thin tools Nicolo traded with a carpenter after they left Trunsa. Too many years without a single gray hair or weary wrinkle had started to earn them looks from their neighbors. 

Nicolo had mentioned he helped the monastery craft simple furniture, often traded or sold for funds. Yusuf was appalled at the thought of an undernourished child handling sharp tools for food, never rewarded for the craft itself. He expressed a wish to do more. However, Nicolo only bought the tools after Yusuf pestered him for days.

The tools were only used once, in a town a few weeks from Damascus. Nicolo carved little desert animals for children. Yusuf and Nicolo found their uncle’s dried up carcass in the sand, his coin still clutched in his hands. The poor soul died of thirst, not of bandits. They detoured to the town to return the man to family who would miss him. 

While Yusuf helped the parents with matters children should not understand yet, Nicolo kept the young ones distracted.

Nicolo carved tiny desert rabbits, birds with giant wings and owls with large eyes out of the piece of wood they saved in case they needed kindling. But Yusuf did not mind. He was rewarded Nicolo's rare laugh as a child pointed out the owl’s beak looked like his nose.

When it was time to depart, Nicolo tossed over a piece with an embarrassed smile. It was a desert rabbit curled up in sleep. It was the size of a quail egg and had a crack that ran down its back because Nicolo cut too deep. The tail was broken off and one of the ears were longer than the other.

Yusuf kept the small imperfect rabbit in his pockets. He took it out every night to stroke its head and eventually, the surface of that spot gleamed like polished stone. 

Yusuf could not retrieve it when they were forced to flee Damascus. As they wearily made camp and discussed wherever to go next, Yusuf remembered it was next to a block of driftwood someone sold him for a fair price. 

The loss of the rabbit hurt more than the arrow that slowly pushed out of his back that night.

Nicolo has not touch the tools since. Nor did he ask for books when Yusuf went to the libraries in Cairo. Or asked they spend coin to purchase a new wrap for his sword's grip. He did not ask for anything. He worked, he toiled, he granted every wish Yusuf muttered unthinkingly for, he—

Yusuf scrubbed his face wearily. When he glanced over their bed, he saw Nicolo again, a pale defeated soul kneeling whipped before Dirar. 

With a growl, Yusuf slapped his own cheeks. He needed to focus. He promised Nicolo he would check on the nets as well.

There were a few daggers buried at the bottom of Nicolo's sack. They were confiscated from bandits they encountered, spoils from jobs guarding caravans over the years. 

Yusuf turned the blades in his hands, his throat working. Some had the gems picked out of the sleeves, valuable metals pried off hilts, leather salvaged for repairs. The blades' adornments were portable currency. Most were gone.

Eyes stinging, Yusuf studied the daggers. He did not realize they were this dire in funds. While he drew, painted and talked about all the techniques he envisioned for one scroll, silver dyes for a manuscript, Nicolo must have been harvesting the daggers for extra coin.

And when that ran out...

Yusuf set the daggers aside to be sharpened. He roughly scrubbed his eyes with a fist.

There was also a tightly bound bundle in Nicolo’s sack. Yusuf frowned when he heft it in his hands. It was tied with three thick straps and a roll as thick as his arm.

When Yusuf loosened the ties, the burlap unfurled. 

“Oh _hobi_ ,” Yusuf choked out as he gazed down at a short stack of papyrus.

The paper was dusty, curled into pale golden tubes of semi-translucent paper. They were tied too tight within the bundle. Yusuf would have to soak each sheet in the stream and dry them flat before they can be used.

Yusuf rubbed a corner between two fingers. It was quality paper from a box Nicolo purchased in Cairo. It was the day they went to the market together. The day Yusuf saw Dirar slip a sliver of apricot between Nicolo’s lips.

The stack of paper shivered when Yusuf’s fist thumped the table. He exhaled slowly. 

The paper made a hushed sound as Yusuf thumbed through the sheets. Part of him wanted to burn them all in a merry fire, but he could not bring himself to so callously lay waste to what Nicolo suffered to get. 

As Yusuf counted each sheet, his chest squeezed. More and more until he was gasping, his breath ragged when he found a scroll carefully covered between two pieces of Nicolo's tunic. Yusuf remembered it was torn beyond repair and assumed it was made into rags. 

Nicolo had cut two pieces in the exact size of the scroll and tucked the scroll between the layers. It was preserved surprisingly well, the scroll work still crisp and vivid.

It was the tale of the boy and the falcon that Yusuf started to draw while Nicolo slept. Nicolo curled against his hip and had watched Yusuf craft a tale. He never completed it. 

_"Does this story have a joyous ending?"_

_"It will."_

And suddenly Yusuf found himself weeping, the torn shirt pressed into his mouth. He pushed the scroll and the papers away. He heard the constellation scroll fall, the beautiful pen Nicolo was determined to get, rolling to Yusuf's feet.

Fat tear drops splattered the table. He felt his sorrow hot and bitter wetting his beard. Nicolo's torn shirt, carefully trimmed and pressed, was now damp.

But Yusuf could not stop. Silent grief and sorrow welled up the more he stared at the incomplete scroll, the art he filled, the promise left empty at the bottom.

Quiet footsteps heralded the slip of Nicolo's thin arms from behind. Nicolo stooped over, his mouth pressed to Yusuf's curls, his arms over Yusuf's shoulders and wrapped around his neck like a warm scarf.

Nicolo did not speak. He did not shush Yusuf. He simply stood there, hunched over Yusuf, offering oasis, offering Yusuf the option to cry.

So Yusuf did.

He sniffled, wept, quiet choked off noises within the haven of Nicolo's embrace. Nicolo's breathing was slow, calm, accepting as Yusuf yielded to his sorrow and wetly raged about his guilt.

The tears eventually dried. Yusuf felt his eyes were scrubbed with boiling sand, his throat clogged up with smoke. His face felt too hot.

Nicolo made to kneel on the floor by Yusuf to speak.

"No," Yusuf croaked. "Not that." 

Nicolo's eyes widened lightly. He nodded and surprised Yusuf once again by straddling Yusuf's lap.

Yusuf exhaled. He buried his damp eyes into the crook of Nicolo's left shoulder. 

"Hello," Nicolo murmured. He carded hands into Yusuf's hair.

"I had promised you a joyous ending," Yusuf mumbled into the smooth skin of Nicolo's neck. 

Nicolo seemed to understand what Yusuf referred to. "I have learned happy endings must be written together."

Yusuf snorted. "And you say I have pretty words."

Nicolo kissed Yusuf's hair.

"I have two sacks of feathers," Nicolo murmured. "For your strange idea."

Yusuf chuckled, thick with unshed tears. "You will not mock after you have slept on it."

"Will I wake up hungry for eggs?" Nicolo mused out loud. "Or will I find another hen trying to make nest in my hair?"

Yusuf choked. He hugged Nicolo to him.

" _Hobi_ ," Yusuf whispered. "No more broken promises. I swear."

"You have never broken a promise to me that truly mattered," Nicolo returned easily, in that deep yet soft tone that said he truly believed it as a fact.

"And I never will," Yusuf murmured. "I will not forsake you. I will not leave you. And I will weep no more. It will blind me to your presence and that is a fate I can not bear."

Nicolo wrapped his arms around Yusuf tightly.

"The same," Nicolo whispered. "The same."

Yusuf breathed deep the sweat and faint almonds on Nicolo's neck. 

"Let us find this joyous ending together," Nicolo murmured.

Yusuf simply nodded and held on. Until...

"...My heart. My Nicolo, I have a question."

"Anything," Nicolo murmured as he rolled his shoulders to curl closer.

"...Why is the horse in the house?"

At the doorway, halfway inside, the horse neighed.


	30. (Nicolo) - Somewhere outside of Alexandria, 12th century - CORRECTED

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a corrected chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It turns out I left out an entire chapter. Reposted.

“Thank you,” Nicolo said, taking care of his pronunciation of his Greek. The metal smith’s dialect was one Nicolo has never encountered, a fast hurried flurry of syllables he decipher more by the smith’s hand gestures than words. He inwardly grimaced when he caught himself looking up, only to remember Yusuf was haggling with the spice trader about their fish on the other side of the village.

Nicolo was worried Yusuf was going to charge through the small area of stands looking for Nicolo soon. He had hesitated when Nicolo said he was going to ask about work, but then Yusuf nodded curtly, visibly resisting the urge to follow.

Nicolo smiled faintly as the metal smith showed him a crude sketch. Yusuf could draw a better one. Nicolo’s shaky penmanship of the symbols he once spied were not much better than the smith’s. Regardless, it was close to what Nicolo wanted so he nodded, trying to use his hands to empathize the shapes.

Satisfied he got the message across, Nicolo dutifully counted out the coins they agreed upon and arranged when Nicolo would return to help rebuild the back section of the smith’s roof. The barter would cover the rest of the cost. Nicolo’s mind spun as he realized that and the other agreement needed to be planned carefully.

Nicolo then met the baker Kahima at the mill to help with more sacks of flour. He carried two sacks on his shoulder and a bag of the processed chaff clenched in his fist for their horse. He felt pleased he was not as tired as before. 

As the baker chatted by his ear about the rising costs of milling and the rumors of attacks at nearby towns, Nicolo found himself searching the village for Yusuf.

They still have not talked about it.

That day, Nicolo had returned from the village to find three of their hens lingering at the door, chirping and feebly flapping their wings. When he gently waved them away, he discovered why the birds were drawn to the door.

It has been two weeks. While Yusuf has not shed another tear, he was also reluctant to convey anything less than joy in front of Nicolo. He still delighted himself with Nicolo’s body as Nicolo with his in return. He still held Nicolo to him at nights. He still entertained Nicolo with fantastical ideas like feathers in a mattress for their bed. 

But Nicolo sometimes caught Yusuf frowning at the stack of paper Nicolo gathered up and bundled. Nicolo left them on the table, but all Yusuf ever did was move them aside to make room for their meals.

To Nicolo’s surprise, Yusuf was already waiting by the baker’s home, shaking his head at the baker’s son Izem as the young man drew something in the dirt with a wooden stick.

“...no,” Yusuf said tersely. When he spotted Nicolo, his voice lightened. He lifted a hand in greeting, his smile wider as Nicolo approached.

“Do you see that curve there? It needs to be turned the other way or the word will not make sense.”

Nicolo bit back a smile as Izem tried, failed and Yusuf grimaced. 

“He learns faster than me,” Nicolo commented as he passed by the pair. He flushed when the baker’s son stared too long at Nicolo, eyes tracking Nicolo as he followed the baker into the house. Yusuf cleared his throat, Izem stammered apologies and Nicolo fought not to look like he was fleeing into the house.

Nicolo helped Kahima grind the spices for meal, turning the pestle into the mortar like she once showed him. He listened as the baker chatted—she has not stopped talking since he met her outside the gristmill. Apparently, he has missed much in the weeks they were not here. 

The ragged edge of a curtain lifted each time a breeze went by and Nicolo caught a glimpse of Yusuf standing over Izem, trying patiently to explain each Arabic letter. Yusuf glanced up, catching Nicolo looking and grinned back.

Nicolo ducked his head, but he sensed Yusuf was still grinning and he could not help but smile to himself.

Seeds rattled as Nicolo rotated the pestle, nodding to what Kahima said they were.

A familiar scent rose as the mortar turned the spices a nutty brown and yellow. Bitter, yet sweet, oily and...

Nicolo's throat worked. He clenched his jaw as he continued to press cardamom and turmeric into the well, into a paste and no, he was not ill, he will not vomit...

A large hand closed over Nicolo's around the pestle. An elbow gently prodded him aside.

"We could hear you destroying your back teeth from outside," Yusuf murmured in Arabic as he slipped around Nicolo to take over. Yusuf sat down on the spare stool by Nicolo.

"I need a repast from teaching Izem. If he misspells one more word, I fear I might do something impolite."

"I can do it," Nicolo said, more sharper than Yusuf deserved. Yusuf looked up, brown eyes narrowing then easing.

"Of course you can," Yusuf said easily. "But why should you when I am desperate for an excuse to be elsewhere?"

A hand touched Nicolo's lower back. It was a brief gesture, one Nicolo almost missed. But he felt it and spotted the strain in Yusuf's smile. 

Nicolo's shoulders slumped. He nodded, muttering he will help Izem instead. When Yusuf made a face, Nicolo scowled.

"Do not undo my work," Yusuf warned as Nicolo explained to the curious baker they were switching places.

Nicolo considered Yusuf settling closer by the pillar, the stone white pestle firmly in his grip. He stooped by Yusuf's ear.

"Would you prefer," Nicolo murmured low enough only for Yusuf to hear, "That I have you undone instead?"

The pestle clunk into the mortar bowl.

Nicolo gestured and apologized as Kahima squawked in Greek at Yusuf's clumsiness. He left Yusuf to stammer more apologies as he stepped outside.

Nicolo almost forgot about their first encounter when he walked up to observe what Izem was writing in the dirt. As he went to the area he last seen the youth, Nicolo remembered and his face went hot. 

From Izem's reaction when Nicolo came to the house, the youth still has an eye on Nicolo. He wondered what he should say, if anything at all. 

When Nicolo went to the front, though, his steps slowed. 

Izem was nowhere in sight.

Nicolo frowned. He studied the dirt where the son was scribbling the Arabic alphabet. Yusuf was correct: Izem misspelled all the words. 

There was a few smudges in the dirt, dusty from drying under the afternoon sun. But there were a few visible footsteps and only one was Yusuf's boot marks with the cut under his heels so they could identify each other's tracks. They had agreed they needed to mark their prints in case they were separated again. Yusuf's was two parallel lines in a slant. Nicolo's was three slanted in the opposite direction.

There were two other sets besides the slightly smaller set which he assumed was the baker's son. Izem was younger than Nicolo was before his first death. Ship life and little food kept him small and narrow footed. 

Nicolo did not know the other two marks.

Glancing over his shoulder, Nicolo spied Yusuf talking with the baker, apparently forgiven for his previous ineptitude. Yusuf did not peer through the curtain at Nicolo.

Nicolo considered Yusuf. He glanced back at the footsteps in the dirt. He absentmindedly patted the dagger belted against his hip. 

It would have to do.

A village this size, there were not many places two men could take a young man without being noticed. Even though Izem was slight, he was almost as tall as Nicolo and with thick forearms from his years of sailing.

Nicolo spied a few villagers make haste walking away in one direction, their eyes averted.

So Nicolo went in the opposite direction, towards where everyone avoided.

The grunts and a young voice pleading reached Nicolo's ears. He found himself in the back of the gristmill and its creaking windmill tower that moved the milling wheels. 

The building acted as the border of the village and was the tallest structure. The gristmill dominated all trade. No one could process grain anywhere else. And no one can do so without a cost. The miller declared himself head of the village. No one dared to disagree. Most times, the miller was a fair leader.

Nicolo spotted a man as tall as Yusef, hair in thick black knots that went down to his broad, thick shoulders. Izem called him Hedi. Izem sounded scared.

"...things you do for lonely merchants at sea," Hedi chuckled as his friend pushed Izem to his knees. "Do well and your debt to me will be gone."

Nicolo was not sure if it was the resigned look on Izem's face, the leer on the men's or the sound Izem's knees made as they dropped to the ground. But he pulled out the dagger, the sound of metal slipping out ringing out in the air and charged.

Someone shouted. Someone plead mercy. Someone cried.

When Nicolo felt a hand on his right wrist, the haze lifted. He found himself exhausted, trembling and gaping at the two dead men on the ground and Izem's terrified eyes.

"It is done." Yusuf was firm and quiet by Nicolo's ear. "Nicolo, it is done. They are dead."

"Oh," Nicolo stared numbly at the dagger in his grip. It dripped with blood. His hand was covered in blood. He tasted blood.

"Izem," Yusuf told the boy, "Do you know these men?"

"He called one of them Hedi," Nicolo muttered before Izem could babble a lie.

"I d-do not know them. Only Hedi. He was the captain of my last ship. They were attacking ships and towns! I did not want to be part of it! He...he said I owed him money because I would not stay! I escaped his ship in Tunisia and fled to home—"

"Izem," Yusuf snapped, whatever patience he bore before was now gone. "No one knows for certain who was here. Go around the back of the mill to your mother before you are discovered of murder."

"He did not kill them," Nicolo said numbly. "I did." 

"You tried," Yusuf corrected. "I finished them." He lifted the scimitar that was in his other hand. He wiped the blood on Hedi's torn tunic. Izem was heard gagging as he scrambled for home.

Nicolo stared at the other man who had unfortunately allied himself with Hedi.

"He is not of this village as well."

Yusuf looked at Nicolo sharply. "Are you sure?"

Nicolo nodded his heavy head. "I have never seen him in all the times we were here. Look, his dress is different as well."

Yusuf lifted the stranger's hand with the tip of his scimitar to study the sword he held. 

"I have not seen a sword like this before either." Yusuf scowled. He glanced around their surroundings. "We need to bury him. Both of them before they are discovered."

Nicolo nodded. It took him two tries to slip the dagger into its sheath. By the time he was done, Yusuf has already digging. 


	31. (Yusuf) - Somewhere outside of Alexandria, 12th century - NEW CH 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be aware I screwed up. The mentioned fight was an entire chapter that was missing. CH 31 IS new. I would recommend rereading from chapter 30. It'll make a whole lot more sense. Sorry.

He should not have said it, but by the time he realized it, it was too late.

“You forbid it?” Nicolo repeated flatly, stopping in his tracks.

Yusuf grimaced. Even the horse stopped next to Nicolo and turned its long head back to glare at Yusuf.

The miller had sought out Nicolo and Yusuf when they returned to the baker’s house to check on them. Yusuf did not like how the miller wanted to talk to Nicolo without Yusuf, his head filled with Izem’s account of Nicolo’s fighting. And he liked it even less when Nicolo, on their way walking back to the house, shared what the miller said.

But perhaps he should have held his tongue when Nicolo said he considered helping to protect the village.

“What I meant...” Yusuf began. He glowered at the mangy beast when it snorted.

Nicolo studied Yusuf and his ire faded. He set down the basket he carried. The baker was entirely too grateful and made them too much bread and meal. Nicolo insisted the horse was already carrying too much and declared he was going to carry this himself. No wonder the lazy beast stared after Nicolo with adoration.

“He said he fears Hedi had set his eyes on the village,” Nicolo said. “Izem confirmed it is what Hedi did before they ransacked the towns. They made the people put their own possessions onto carts to be taken away and then they’re given to his men as...” He sharply turned away, his eyes on the village they left behind.

“I know the miller is concerned,” Yusuf tried. “But both Hedi and his companion are dead.”

“His men will come looking.”

Yusuf’s stomach clenched in agreement. His heart, however, hammered at the memory of Nicolo and his dagger, the spray of blood on his face, his back turned as he checked on Izem rather than the two men. They could have killed Nicolo.

Worse, they could have taken him.

“I do not think so,” Yusuf lied. “We found their horses and set them off to run free. Should his men find them, they would not know where their captain has been.”

“Unless Hedi told his men before he left,” Nicolo argued.

“We do not know he did,” Yusuf returned.

Nicolo stared at Yusuf. “You think we should not help them?”

“I...” Yusuf folded his arms in front of him. He dropped his chin. He sighed.

“We do not know if they need help. This is a small village, a stopping point for those returning from sea and Alexandria has no work for ships yet. There are but few markets selling only what they themselves can not eat. This place does not even have a name! There is nothing here except for peace and tranquillity.”

“Is that not valuable?” Nicolo asked quietly. “Was it not why we chose to stay close to it?”

Yusuf closed his eyes.

“Nicolo,” Yusuf breathed, “are you not tired?”

Nicolo could be heard swallowing.

“If you asked me last month, I would have said yes.”

Yusuf’s mouth twisted. “And your answer today would be no?”

“It would still be yes.” Nicolo locked gazes with Yusuf’s surprised eyes, “But it is a weariness of something else.”

Yusuf’s shoulders slumped.

“You are tired of hiding.”

“Then you were aware that was what we were doing.” Nicolo stepped closer to Yusuf. He slipped hands around Yusuf’s elbows.

“I eventually realized I was hiding,” Nicolo murmured. His smile was crooked, humorless. “And that you let me.”

“You needed to rest,” Yusuf said gently. “Do not deny your nights and your heart is far lighter for it.”

Nicolo breathed out slowly. He rested his forehead on Yusuf’s shoulder, his hands on top of Yusuf’s folded arms.

“I will admit,” Nicolo murmured, “the peace I felt since Cairo was welcomed and the stop here to just “be” was what you and I needed.”

Yusuf rested his chin against the side of Nicolo’s head.

“I did not need much rest,” Yusuf said.

Nicolo scoffed. “Then why do you not draw again?”

Yusuf’s lips pressed together. “I will.”

“When? Tomorrow? Next week?”

Yusuf forced out a chuckle. “So impatient, my Nicolo. Did you have a subject in mind?”

Nicolo stepped back, his mouth grim, his jaw clenched. He would not be deterred. A stubborn streak Yusuf was glad to see again, if only it was not at his expense right now.

“You say you would no longer be grieving for me. You say you understand you have no debt with me. Yet your scrolls fade with dust, your pen crusted with old ink, your papers blank of—“

“How I feel is not the same as what I do.” Yusuf tamped down the urge to shout. “I simply do not have the desire to draw right now.”

Nicolo’s expression was carefully blank. “That is all?”

“Of course.” Yusuf patted Nicolo’s shoulders and strode past.

The path back to their house never felt as long as it did now. Yusuf felt Nicolo staring after him, his walk steady despite Yusuf’s insistence to get home before it was dark.

Yusuf’s jaw worked. He stopped in his tracks, too suddenly. Nicolo almost collided into him.

“Why did you attack those men?” Yusuf asked the question that sat in his belly since they left.

“Izem—“

“I know what they were going to do,” Yusuf interrupted. “But why did you attack them alone? And with a dagger?”

Nicolo’s boots scraped the sandy ground underneath him.

“It was all I have with me.”

Yusuf grunted.

“What?”

“You would not need my aid had you taken your sword with you.” Yusuf did not turn around. “But you have not taken your sword or practice with it since we came here.”

Nicolo said nothing.

Yusuf chuckled sadly. “Maybe you need more rest after all?”

“It is not that I do not have a desire to take my sword,” Nicolo said. “But I know what my sword means to others when I have it by my side.”

Yusuf’s brow knitted.

“Fucking Frank,” Nicolo whispered. It was almost lost to the wind.

Yusuf froze.

“It is what they said over and over as they choked me with their cocks.”

“Nicolo,” Yusuf rasped.

“My sword is the weapon of so much destruction, so much waste.” Nicolo sighed. “It is the sharp tool of invasion. Do you not agree, Yusuf al-Kaysani?”

Yusuf’s throat worked. He slowly turned around to face Nicolo. Nicolo gazed back with resigned eyes the color of winter.

“I can conceal my face, do not let them see my eyes, do not speak and I can be among you without notice.”

Nicolo rested a hand on top of the dagger by his hip.

“But if I carry the sword that cut through so many men in front of Antioch, Damascus, Aleppo...”

Nicolo’s hand lowered from his dagger.

“You shared the burden of war,” Yusuf said quietly, “But you did not bore the responsibility.”

Nicolo smiled faintly. “Yes, I know as you have told me before. Our long lives have not yet made my mind feeble.”

“Then why—“

“It is what they see.” Nicolo stared past Yusuf’s right shoulder. “In Cairo, that was all Dirar saw. The others saw a Frank bowed to his knees. Their treatment was...”

“Do not tell me you forgive them,” Yusuf seethed. “There is only so much understanding and kindness they deserve.”

Nicolo shook his head. “No, of course not, I know now I did not deserve how they...but I understand why they were pushed to it.”

Nicolo’s hand drifted back to his hip, only he did not touch the dagger, but let his hand hover above it.

“You think you invited their sadistic treatment because of your sword?” Yusuf’s throat worked.

Nicolo shrugged his shoulders. “Do you see the villagers treat us with fear and trepidation far more than a stranger would? These people have treated us with kindness once they have gotten over their wariness towards us. Do you think it would be the same were I to arrive in the village with my sword?”

Yusuf grimaced. “There is not much you and I can do if Hedi’s men come looking.”

“We have fought off bandits from caravans,” Nicolo reminded him.

“For coin,” Yusuf pointed out. “And with our swords, fighting as one. Do you see your dagger and my scimitar faring the same?”

“We have faced worst. We have died for less.”

“Yes,” Yusuf grated out. “And you and I have come back, but what if when we do, this time, we are separated? What if they take you?” From me, Yusuf was afraid to say.

But Nicolo seemed to have heard him anyway. He swallowed.

“I know it may be the right thing to do,” Yusuf said softly. “But I do not know if my heart can bear it if I come back from death and not see you besides me.”

“It is why you do not draw anymore.”

Yusuf blinked. “What?”

Nicolo’s lips twitched but they did not smile.

“You blame your drawing, your work for what happened to me. That I was out of your sight.” Nicolo shook his head. “That is—“

“How often have you come back with something I have mentioned in passing?” Yusuf said. When Nicolo stilled, he sighed.

“It was eight if you can not recall.” Yusuf’s jaw clenched. “And I did not suspect a thing. I looked up, my eyes at last opened and you were about to...”

Yusuf struck a fist against his own leg.

“This is not supposition, Nicolo,” Yusuf growled. “It is fact. My head down among the pages and I did not see where my thoughtless wishes had led you. Your sword? Your fears are unfounded.”

“Yu—“

Yusuf shook his head hard. He was almost dizzy after.

“I know you want to help them, hobi and I will admit, I have some concern for the village, but to walk into a possible lion’s den and await slaughter and sure death? No, I can not—no, I am sorry, I—“

“You forbid it?” Nicolo finished thinly.

Yusuf blanched. “That is not what I was going to say. I do not own you.”

“Yet you fear losing me.” Nicolo exhaled slowly. His anger seeped away.

“Can we go home?” Yusuf plead. He did not care how he sounded right now. “Please, let us not quarrel here on the dirt road. We talk at home, yea? Under the roof we built together, eating over the table we built together.”

“Home,” Nicolo murmured. He glanced sideways at Yusuf. His shoulders slumped again. He nodded.

“Fine,” Nicolo rasped. “Let us go home.”

Yusuf smiled wanly. He watched Nicolo struggle to lift the heavy basket once more. He wanted to offer to take it as well. His stack of wooden planks was not heavy. But he did not dare offer.

As they walked, for once in a line and not shoulder to shoulder, Yusuf realized with a sinking stomach that he may not be able to keep his Nicolo safe. Nicolo will not let him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (head hanging) I'm new. Sorry for messing up the story.


	32. (Nicolo) - Somewhere outside of Alexandria, 12th century - CORRECTED CH 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be aware I screwed up. The mentioned fight was an entire chapter that was missing. CH 31 IS new. I would recommend rereading from chapter 30. It'll make a whole lot more sense. Sorry.

He did not remember the sword being this heavy.

Nicolo grasped the hilt. He jerked his hand back as if burned. His chest shrank around his breath the moment he touched the sword. He...

Nicolo turned away. He stared out the doorway, towards the direction Yusuf went to check on the traps and the nets. Nicolo could not see him from here, but he could see the sky was still blue and clear. It was not time yet for the sky to bleed reds and yellows to welcome the sun and release the moon.

The sword was in one of the tall jars they found cracked with disuse when they discovered the abandoned house. It was once meant for oil to preserve fish, but the cracks in the bottom promised no oil would stay within for too long.

Yusuf kept his scimitar with Nicolo's longsword inside the jar unless he was going into the village. And while Nicolo ignored his sword in the vessel, there was comfort seeing their swords together in the container, set by the foot of their bed.

His sword was alone in the pottery right now. Yusuf only removed his scimitar strapped over his shoulders and left it on the table. When they arrived home, Yusuf mumbled he needed to check on their traps. He hesitantly offered to check Nicolo’s nets as well.

It was petty, but Nicolo simply took the reins and led the horse to its stable. He heard Yusuf sigh, but he refused to turn around. Nicolo sensed Yusuf watching as he removed the harness and the bundles on its tethered baskets. He walked by Yusuf, silent as he set the cheeses and stew meat on the table. He walked back out with the sack of chaff and feed to their horse and hens.

As much as he felt twisted up and frustrated. Nicolo could not help brushing his knuckles over Yusuf’s left hip as he passed. Still silent, but Nicolo knew Yusuf would understand his touch. Nicolo would not be angry with Yusuf forever. And the downcast look Yusuf fought so hard to suppress hurt to see and demanded not to be ignored.

Yusuf’s hand brushed over Nicolo’s elbow. He rasped he was going to the stream. He will be back.

Nicolo nodded. He heard the plea underneath that Nicolo be here when he returns.

Nicolo watched Yusuf set down his sword on the table, retrieved a basket to collect anything they caught and left. And he knew Yusuf would return. Regardless, it still ached to see Yusuf's back going farther away from him. He almost called him back. He almost ran up to join him. Instead, Nicolo jerkily twisted around to go back into the house after Yusuf was too far away to see.

Yusuf’s sword felt light in Nicolo’s hand when he picked it up. It was a deadly weapon, lighter yet dealt with much heavier damage Nicolo would have expected. It spoke of the man’s strength and agility required to yield such a sword. Even in the heat of battle, Yusuf had seemed to dance through each strike and blow.

Nicolo pulled off the still bloodied dagger hanging off his right hip. He set it next to Yusuf’s scimitar. He pressed his lips together as he compared the two. He sighed and sat down on the edge of the pallet.

Yusuf was correct, of course. How can Yusuf trust Nicolo against his back with a simple dagger?

Nicolo took a deep breath and stood. He stared at his sword, given to him after training when he stepped down from priesthood and chose a path he thought would bring him closer to God.

The sword was cool in his right hand. He held it point down. It felt like it dragged him to the ground to kneel.

Nicolo recalled how it sang through the air, metal slicing across before contacting flesh and bone. It did not feel as heavy once he started fighting with it. Then, fight fed his bones and sent his blood coursing throughout his limbs. He fought because it was what he trained for, what his heart had believed until he died. First. Second. A curved blade through his heart did not break it.

Watching what he thought was his comrades who shared the same purpose burn and raped everything into the ground crumbled his heart. Watching war frenzied men ignore their faith and morals for flesh, blood and riches broke his heart.

Nicolo gulped back the heavy lump reforming in his chest that wanted to break free. He squeezed the grip of the sword and thought of what it destroyed in the name of false purpose.

But it can be baptized with new purpose.

Nicolo pulled his sword out of the jar.

Nicolo lifted the sword with both hands. He studied the gleam of the blade, the reflections of the sun turned the blade into a swirl of gold.

Behind him, the hens chirped, no longer interested once they realized Nicolo was not there to feed them. Even further back, the horse poked its head out of the narrow stable and softly nickered curiously but continued chewing the chaff in its bucket.

The scabbard, propped up for the short pen around the hens, clinked every so often as the chickens pecked it through the fence in hopes for food.

There was a breeze that lifted the cool water from the stream and blew around Nicolo’s legs. The sun has started its descent from the sky, no longer cooking the top of his head.

And yet sweat stuck Nicolo’s shirt to his back. His trousers clung uncomfortably to his knees and groin. And his hair hung thicker, heavier against his nape despite pulling it all back into a leather tie.

Nicolo set his jaw, shift his left foot forward and swung. The sword hummed high pitched as it cut through the air. He gripped the hilt with both hands and pulled the sword forwarding then arcing up.

Each swing was easier than the last. It felt like memory has settled into Nicolo's bones, guiding his limbs. Step back, pull up the sword, plow through, swing.

It was quiet as Nicolo went through the stances he learned, back when the sword was too heavy for a body still trying to grow out of the awkward bony elbows and knees. He remembered aching, cramping all the way down his lower back after each training session. He remembered wishing he could lie down, just for a spell, but he needed to clean the stables and tend to the church's pews before he was allowed dinner. It took years of broken bones and sprained backs before the sword finally felt like it was a part of him.

And then the Pope's call came. And he answered. And later died. And then reviving to real salvation. To Yusuf.

Nicolo blinked rapidly, his burning eyes contorting everything before him into shadows. He drew his sword close, struck forward and felt the sword tip him too forward.

With a yelp, Nicolo tumbled to the ground, on his hands and knees, the sword clattering by him.

Nicolo panted, harsh and loud, as he hunched over at a grassy spot on the ground. He stared blankly, confused why there were spots of blood until the metallic sweet taste registered on his tongue. Oh, he bit his lower lip. He could feel the warmth trailing down his chin. There was no pain. It already healed, well before the blood had a chance to dry.

Behind Nicolo, the horse snorted. The hens were still pecking his scabbard.

A soft crunch of grass. Nicolo lifted his head, but there was no one there at the back of the house.

With a sigh, Nicolo retrieved his sword. He studied it with a scowl.

Then Nicolo picked himself back up to try again.

The weary ache on Nicolo's shoulders faded the moment he rolled them back. Another breath, he continued with the advanced techniques.

The third stance was harder than Nicolo remembered, his arms shaking to keep the sword steady as he pulled it back close to his body. He shifted his back foot, moved the weight on his opposite hip and swung.

Forged steel whistled sharp in the air as it cut. Nicolo adjusted the swing, flexed his grip and it skimmed the tall grass in front of him.

Nicolo bent at the waist, knees bend as he gasped. He stared hard at the hip high grass.

A breeze past and the tops of the grass fluttered to the ground.

Nicolo grimaced. Not all of the grass yielded to his sword, though. His thighs quivered from the strain. His trousers were stuck to the back of his thighs and knees. His tunic bunched uncomfortably around his ribs.

And he was worryingly hard. Almost. He felt his cock stirring hot between his legs in the fringes of discomfort. Nicolo pressed the heel of his left hand on the base of his cock. He bit back a groan. His trousers were damp with sweat and stuck to his groin, overheating him more. He pressed firmer and sighed as his cock quieted. He was left with an odd ache, but at least he could stand upright again.

The sky was getting dark. The sun bade Nicolo farewell without him realizing it. The moon was low in the horizon like a pale blue jewel.

The hens have their heads tucked under their wings. The horse poked its head into the still full bucket, no longer hungry.

And Nicolo has not seen Yusuf.

There was a faint smell of the bread in the air and salty stewed meat. Nicolo realized with a pang he was supposed to make the evening meal today. And he was hungry.

Throat working, Nicolo cleaned his blade on the grass now damp with night dew. He went over to the stable, gave the horse a pat on the nose and received a gentle nuzzle into his hair in return. He tested the hens' fence for strength, checked the rooster was asleep and slipped his blade back into the scabbard.

With a deep breath, Nicolo tentatively went around to the house. He stopped by the doorway.

The house was empty.

Nicolo's throat worked. He glanced behind him but Yusuf was nowhere to be seen. Nicolo stood by the doorway. His erection was completely gone by now. And now he felt chilled. He could not bring himself to step inside. The space was small, but it was empty. The walls seemed to stretch back, the space larger and emptier than before.

Chest tight, limbs heavy, Nicolo nearly missed the bowl of stew and the loaf of bread on the table. Yusuf covered the bowl with the bread to keep the stew warm and to soften the bread.

Nicolo's eyes burned for a different reason now as he approached the table. There was his dagger, cleaned of blood and shiny with new polish. It held down a folded square of paper.

Hands shaking, Nicolo opened the note.

_Went to take a bath. Eat while still hot. Come find me after eating. If you want._

Underneath the neat script, Yusuf drew in ink a small man with his sword, on the third position. With a fluffy cross-eyed chicken sitting on top of his head.

Nicolo choked on the chuckle that broke free. He scrubbed his burning eyes with a sleeve, getting a good sniff of himself in the process.

Yes, perhaps a bath is in order, after all.

Smiling faintly to himself, Nicolo set aside his sword and sat down to eat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (head hanging) I'm new. Sorry for messing up the story.


	33. (Yusuf) - Somewhere outside of Alexandria, 12th century - CORRECTED CH 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be aware I screwed up. The mentioned fight was an entire chapter that was missing. CH 31 IS new. I would recommend rereading from chapter 30. It'll make a whole lot more sense. Sorry.

He could not stay angry at Nicolo. It just was not in him.

Yusuf remembered the first time his blade clashed with Nicolo’s sword. Their mutual anger fueled by the battle around them had boiled it into rage. He felt rage towards the invaders. He felt confusion as to why they came across such a distance to destroy. 

But at Nicolo himself? No. Decades shared with Nicolo, lifetimes over, has dulled their memories but Yusuf still recalled he had held no anger towards Nicolo specifically.

There was a weight sitting on Yusuf’s chest. As he sat in the bathing pool, he rubbed the spot in the middle of his chest, fingers idly scratching the short chest hair as he wondered why it felt like a great object was crushing his ribs. He breathed around it slowly, his eyes glancing towards the path that led back to the house.

No one was approaching the stream.

The pressure on Yusuf’s chest increased.

Ah. Yusuf smiled wryly to himself. So that is the reason then. He was not surprised. He absentmindedly wiped a rag over his arms and shoulders as he continued facing the path. He wondered if Nicolo ate the stew. Yusuf hoped he did.

When Yusuf returned with the nets and the two traps—the poor rabbits were still alive and terrified so he let them go instead—he heard the thin whine of steel through the air.

He dropped the nets and ran towards the sound, only remembering too late his scimitar was at their dwelling.

Around the structure, Yusuf halted at the sight of Nicolo and his longsword. And he could not move, could not speak as slender arms and strong thighs stretched and flexed as Nicolo swung the sword. He acted like he was fighting an enemy. Perhaps he was.

Nicolo looked...

Yusuf’s hand released the rag. His hand wandered to his lax cock. He curled a loose hand around it.

Nicolo insisted his clothing was sufficient despite parts were getting threadbare, too worn to be patched again. So when damp with sweat, the patches turned transparent. And clung possessively.

The back of Nicolo’s trousers plastered around the shape of his ass, echoing the clench of his buttocks and hips as he lunge, feinted and swung. His sleeves shaped around the gentle curve of his biceps and the bent of his elbow. Yusuf remembered how Nicolo squirmed whenever Yusuf kissed the inside of his elbows, his beard brushing along his wrists as he savored the taste of Nicolo’s skin.

Yusuf murmured to himself, his hand tightening around his thickening sex. He spread his legs, his hips rolling back, his lower back flexing. He continued watching the path.

The sword was an extension of Nicolo. Arms straight, the sword obeyed every move, trembling only when Nicolo’s arms shook at the strain. His feet turned, switched, flexed as he slashed across the unseen in front of him.

Nicolo collapsed, due to exhaustion or a move done improperly, it was not clear. Yusuf almost bolted out from his hiding place.

The look on Nicolo’s face stopped him.

Eyes glinting a blue unlike Yusuf has ever seen and his jaw clenching, Nicolo looked ready to charge. His eyes challenged something only he could see. On his hands and knees, soaked with sweat, Nicolo’s chin lifted and dared someone to attack him at that moment.

“Hello Nicolo,” Yusuf murmured. His eyes glazed as he recalled the heat slowly churning in his belly. He retreated after Nicolo rose to his feet, the look in his eyes, the way his body moved with a fluidity and grace Yusuf did not realize he missed until it was back before him.

This was Nicolo, his Nicolo di Genova, his _hobi_ , his forever.

Yusuf’s hand pumped his length under the water, faster as his memory trailed greedy eyes down Nicolo’s back, how it curved, tipping his ass back, his thighs thick and strong as they bunched under clingy trousers. His broad shoulders, his narrow hips, the long arms that languidly moved as if they were underwater.

“Uh...Ni...” Yusuf breathed, his hand frantic. He squeezed his eyes shut, his own ass clenching at the memory of Nicolo’s finger shyly entering him. That blunt, long and knowing finger slipping in deep, filling Yusuf yet woefully not enough. How tentative it first explored him. How bold that touch became, striking that place inside with a sure stroke. Graceful warrior’s hands.

Yusuf came, with a force and rush of heat so sharp, his eyes flew open as if to let the fire billow out. The water splashed around him as his legs kicked out, his hand still around his cock, furiously pulling and coaxing every drop’s freedom.

It was both harder and easier to breathe. Yusuf gasped as the haze that dropped over his vision lifted. He raised heavy-lidded eyes to search for the darkening blue sky.

And found the darkening blue of Nicolo’s eyes instead.

Yusuf was too spent to blush. He sagged, his back supported by the edge of the pool. He caught Nicolo’s eyes drifting down towards the water.

“You came,” Yusuf rasped, out of breath as it felt like he could physically sense Nicolo's gaze caressing him. His legs fell open, his half-aroused state for Nicolo to see.

“You...you asked,” Nicolo said, distracted. His eyes lingered on the water. He knelt by the pool edge opposite of Yusuf. His tunic was wrinkled, having dried over Nicolo. It hugged Nicolo’s frame in a way Yusuf envied.

“I said only if you want,” Yusuf murmured. His hand wandered back to his sex.

“And did you?” Yusuf rumbled. His hand curled back around his cock. “Did you want?”

Nicolo’s throat worked, his hands curling around the yellowing grass along the edge. Yusuf kept still so he would not disturb the water. He kept his legs spread and his voice low.

“Did you?” Yusuf asked again, firmer.

Nicolo mutely nodded.

Yusuf thought about that look of defiance, the way the breeze flitted around Nicolo. His tongue swiped over his lower lip. He took a deep breath.

“Then take off your clothes,” Yusuf softly ordered. “Now.”

That narrow-eyed expression returned. Then eased as it went back to contemplate the water and Yusuf’s returning erection.

Yusuf’s hand stroked up his rising cock. His other hand gestured lazily at Nicolo.

“Stand up. I want to see it.”

Nicolo’s chin lifted. He did not say anything. But his eyes, oh, his eyes were the color of stormy seas crashing onto shore.

Yusuf stared back, his hand cupping his length, his expression bland as he considered Nicolo.

“Only if you want,” Yusuf murmured as he continued to pump his cock, the cool water teasing the tightening of his skin.

Nicolo considered Yusuf like he was trying to predict Yusuf’s next move. They were back on a battlefield, this one of their own choosing.

Without another word, Nicolo rose to his feet.

There was nothing playful in the way Nicolo undressed. He shrugged as he rolled his tunic up over his chest, tugging briefly to get it past his ears and hair. His trousers, with the laces undone, puddled down to bony ankles, revealing pale legs and a slender pink cock half risen between them.

Yusuf’s mouth went dry as his eyes trailed from Nicolo's narrow feet, up the bump of his anklebones, to the dark nest of hair between Nicolo’s legs.

Yusuf let go of his own cock and rose to his feet as well. He stood, feet at shoulder apart, his cock a hot weight pulling his groin. He waded to Nicolo.

Nicolo’s cock was flushed with blood, erect and against Nicolo’s stomach. There was dark hairs on his forearms, his calves, but very little anywhere else. Nicolo was smooth in some parts, rough in others.

Yusuf slipped a hand around Nicolo’s ankle. He rose up to kiss Nicolo’s right shin. Nicolo tasted of salty sweat.

“Stay there,” Yusuf murmured into Nicolo’s calf as he stretched as high as could could to mouthed the sparse hair covering Nicolo’s calf. His hand moved up the ankle, kneading the bunched muscles of the calf.

"Now sit down." Yusuf patted Nicolo’s ankle. He stepped back to watch Nicolo sit down on the edge of the pool. Yusuf guided Nicolo's knees over his shoulders. Before he change his mind, Yusuf slipped his palms over Nicolo's cheeks and abruptly stepped back.

Nicolo yelped which quickly changed to a groan when he found himself sitting on top of Yusuf's shoulders, held up afloat by Yusuf's hands on his ass.

The groan turned into a broken cry as Yusuf roughly tugged Nicolo closer, his mouth easily finding Nicolo's cock. He kissed the weeping tip before he gobbled Nicolo whole.

"Ah, ah," Nicolo choked. He hunched forward, his arms wrapped around Yusuf's head, trembling as Yusuf relaxed his throat and invited Nicolo's cock to slide all the way in.

Yusuf kept his lips pursed tight around Nicolo's length, his hands gripping Nicolo's cheeks tighter. He could not hold up Nicolo for too long, but oh, the weight of that defiance, that grace, quivering around him, in his throat with those tiny desperate sounds...He kneaded the cheeks as he sucked and let himself grow dizzy for air and from Nicolo's increasing hiccupped cries.

Nicolo's buttocks clenched, once more trying not to thrust, trying not to hurt and Yusuf had enough. He wanted the Nicolo he saw behind the house. He wanted the Nicolo that glared and dared someone, anyone, to fight him.

Yusuf noisily slurped around Nicolo's erection, hefted Nicolo higher, a hand moving, slipping in-between...

Nicolo jolted as a finger slipped in and claimed him. He started as one finger quickly became two. His hips helplessly jerked into Yusuf's mouth.

Yusuf groaned around the cock, his lips kneading the length as his fingers greedily explored Nicolo, seeking that spot where he rubbed across over and over, faster the higher Nicolo keened.

"Yu...Yu...oh w-wait, I-I...Oh, oh..."

Nicolo was babbling, sobbing and still trying not to thrust.

No, this will not do.

Yusuf's fingers twisted and dove deeper and as Nicolo arched his back, a thrust so deep the sky darkened, Yusuf slipped in the third.

Nicolo cried out Yusuf's name as if Yusuf held all the answers. He came as Yusuf tumbled him back onto the grass. He came once more when Yusuf devoured his cock again, his hands spreading Nicolo wide, wider, his fingers owning him, possessing him, demanding Nicolo to fall into yet another release.

Yusuf drank greedily, deliberately making obscene wet sounds as bitter fluid and saliva slobbered all over Nicolo's belly. Yusuf did not swallow. Instead, he wanted to mark Nicolo, he wanted to stain Nicolo. He wanted to rile up his Nicolo, shatter him and rebuild his beautiful warrior.

Mouths and fingers tasted and lay claim. When Nicolo rolled Yusuf onto his back, Yusuf hissed "Yes, yes" at the flash in Nicolo's eyes. He coaxed Nicolo to add another finger, groaning at the wonderful stretch, mewling as Nicolo swallowed and then crawl up to Yusuf's mouth to kiss him. They tasted each other in their mouths, their stained bodies smearing and rutting against each other.

Yusuf's fingers slipped back into Nicolo the moment Nicolo was within reach. Yusuf held as still as possible. And with a breathless voice, ordered Nicolo to ride his fingers.

Oh, how Nicolo rode Yusuf's hand, his hips rocking, his cock rutting into Yusuf's stomach. Nicolo moved with abandon, his eyes cloudy with need. Yusuf swore Nicolo would break his hand and if he did, Yusuf would enter Nicolo with his other hand and let Nicolo ride his fingers until he broke both of Yusuf's hands.

"Deeper," Yusuf demanded, "Take what you want. Fight for what you want from me."

"Yus..." Nicolo sobbed, gasping and pleading.

"No," Yusuf croaked. "I will do nothing. Take what you want, Nicolo. _Fight for it._ "

Nicolo bowed his head, breathing harshly before he groaned. He ground his cock against Yusuf's, his ass clutching Yusuf's fingers and snapped back into Yusuf's hand before surging forward to strike against Yusuf's cock.

"Yes," Yusuf murmured. It hurt to hold still when he wanted to yank Nicolo against him. 

Nicolo wailed, his head thrown back when he came. He held his pelvis up, his cock spilling all over Yusuf's torso and crotch. Nicolo marked him just like Yusuf had marked him. And Nicolo thrashed, grinding against Yusuf, incoherent as he rode Yusuf's fingers. He only stopped when Yusuf came once more and everything now felt too sharp on their skins.

Yusuf wrapped a leg around Nicolo, his heel on the top of the cleft. He tried to speak. Could not. He watched Nicolo tried to do the same.

"Was..." Nicolo panted. "Was this what you want? What I want? I..."

Yusuf's chest expanded, too big to fit, warm and intoxicating as he gazed on Nicolo curled half on top of him. He pressed a fingertip into Nicolo's hole and felt him shiver against him. And then knocked his head onto Yusuf's chin to chide him to stop.

"Yes," Yusuf murmured. He dropped a kiss on Nicolo's damp head.

"This is exactly what we both want. In fact, it is what we both needed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (head hanging) I'm new. Sorry for messing up the story.


	34. (Nicolo) - Somewhere outside of Alexandria, 12th century

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be aware I screwed up. The mentioned fight was an entire chapter that was missing. CH 31 IS new. I would recommend rereading from chapter 30. It'll make a whole lot more sense. Sorry.

The sigh against Nicolo's nape did not sound like the other has slept at all. 

“You can not sleep?” Nicolo whispered. Sleep was elusive for him as well. He rubbed the arm around his middle. “Does today still trouble you?”

Yusuf shifted, his forehead bumping to the back of Nicolo’s head.

“Wait for me after we break fast in the morning,” Yusuf mumbled. “I will go with you.”

Nicolo’s hand stilled over Yusuf’s arm.

“You do not have to,” Nicolo said. “I know you spoke out of fear before. I will be fine. You may be correct that Hedi did not inform his men about the village and they will be spared. I go merely to assure them one will be there to defend them.”

Yusuf sighed again.

Nicolo turned his head, but he could not catch a glimpse of Yusuf.

“Tell me,” Nicolo softly requested. “Something weighs you.”

“Will you promise me something?”

“Anything,” Nicolo replied immediately.

Yusuf’s smile pressed into Nicolo’s nape hot like a brand. It was a pity such a mark shared between them was not possible.

“Always be there when I look for you.” The arms around Nicolo’s middle tightened. “Waking from sleep. Or from death. Even if we are angry with each other. Please be the first thing I see when I open my eyes.”

"I swear I will never break this promise." Nicolo reached up for Yusuf’s forearm. He curled a hand around Yusuf’s pulse.

“As for angry...I do not think I can truly stay angry with you,” Nicolo admitted. “Before, my ire did not last as long as my wish to see you again.”

Yusuf kissed the back of Nicolo’s hair. “It was the same for me. How quick you forgive humbles me.” He slipped a leg between Nicolo’s. A distinct heat rested on Nicolo’s lower back.

Nicolo flushed.

“Your stamina humbles me,” Nicolo muttered. He fidgeted, leaning back into Yusuf and his half aroused cock. “I thought your appetite was sated.” Twice, in fact. The unfortunate chicken that had wandered by the doorway shrieked scandalized.

“I always hunger for you,” Yusuf exhaled. “But no, rest, my heart. I will deal with it. I can not help react to you, but I will behave. I do not have the strength to have another bath with you.”

Nicolo snorted, but remained where he lay. He felt Yusuf shift closer, his hips rocking quietly into Nicolo’s back.

“Another bath and I would shrivel in places that would displease you,” Nicolo scoffed.

Yusuf embraced Nicolo harder, his rutting more urgent. Nicolo could not help but follow.

“Nothing of you,” Yusuf breathed, “could ever displease me. The more I touch you, the more I crave. The more I taste you, the more I hunger. The more I see you, the more I long to see you again. I am certain the sight and feel of you will excite me for a millennia. More.”

Nicolo moaned quietly at Yusuf’s words, at the sensation of Yusuf gliding over him, his cock a hard presence that made his insides quivered. His body suddenly felt heavy and clumsy, his limbs moving without his permission.

“Yusuf,” Nicolo whimpered as he reached down and fumbled for the laces of his trousers. 

Yusuf’s hand reached around and captured Nicolo’s, stopping him from tugging down his trousers.

"Oh..." Nicolo tried to tug his hand free. "I n-need, I-I, Yu...Yusuf..."

“Sh,” Yusuf hushed. He kissed Nicolo’s right shoulder again and again as he continued to grind along the length of Nicolo’s back.

Nicolo heard himself whining deep in his throat, felt his legs bending and straightening. Yusuf’s leg between his was gone and the loss was unbearable. It was like in the pool when Yusuf’s fingers filled him. It was like the many times where Yusuf’s touch filled and stretched but still left him feeling so empty.

He needed more of Yusuf. Somehow. Now.

“Yusuf,” Nicolo moaned. “Yusuf, this feeling...I do not understand...Yu—Please.”

“What do you want?” Yusuf whispered.

“I-I,” Nicolo quietly sobbed. “I do not know. I just do. Please.”

Yusuf rocked harder into Nicolo, his erection freed now, hot and leaking as it rubbed into the skin exposed when Nicolo yanked up the hem of his tunic, his fist around the fabric threatening to tear his own shirt.

“Uh,” Nicolo choked out. “Yu—Please...I...”

“You are okay,” Yusuf murmured, a voice without a face hidden behind Nicolo, his beard a tantalizing sensation along the exposed skin around Nicolo’s neckline. “Tell me. I would climb up to the moon for you. Tell me.”

“I-I do not kno—Yu...Yusuf,” Nicolo hiccupped.

Yusuf slowly tugged down Nicolo’s trousers from his ass. He shushed Nicolo again when Nicolo keened. His thick thighs caught Nicolo’s between his, pressing them together. Yusuf’s cock squeezed in-between Nicolo’s thighs.

Nicolo choked. Yes. This. But also not. The heat of Yusuf’s cock pushing between his thighs was good and yet...yet...

“Ah...” Nicolo found himself gasping. 

Yusuf muttered something into Nicolo’s hair Nicolo could not grasp. Yusuf drew up his knees, wrapping his legs around Nicolo’s, squeezing his thighs together even tighter.

Heat rutted under Nicolo’s sacs, the hard length poking out under his cock. Yusuf groaned, muttering he can not reach the oil, but Nicolo could not bring himself to fathom why. He did not _care_. He slapped his hands over Yusuf’s firm grip on his hips. He felt Yusuf’s fingers flexing, digging into muscle. He panted, broken cries spilling out as he tried to stay afloat. He was drowning as he writhed within Yusuf's hold.

“Please...p-please...” Nicolo nearly wept as he shook. "Yusuf, please..."

Yusuf’s cock was slick with bitter seed that wept over his length. It was slick with the sweat from their bodies. But it was not enough and Nicolo burned as cock pushed through the tender skin of his inner thighs.

This should hurt. For him. For Yusuf. But hurts healed as fast as they formed. And there was something billowing hot in the pit of Nicolo’s stomach.

Nicolo found himself begging, blind with a desperation he could not understand. He bucked back into Yusuf, his hands clutching Yusuf’s. He kept pleading for more. But more of what, he did not know.

Yusuf soothed Nicolo, murmuring, “Not not, not yet” and made odd whispered promises of laying Nicolo wet and loose on the softest bed, feeding him plump fruits to sweeten his lips and filling up Nicolo over and over until he overflowed, until he begged Yusuf to stop.

Nicolo could not imagine ever telling Yusuf to stop. He pressed his thighs together as hard as he could. Yusuf groaned into Nicolo’s nape as he came, thick white ribbons that splashed down Nicolo’s thighs and knees. When Nicolo tumbled into his own release after, everything went white behind his eyes, his voice cracking as he wailed out Yusuf’s name.

Yusuf’s panting by Nicolo’s ear drowned out his own gasping. Nicolo felt sticky, cold as their releases cooled on his body. But he could not move, not even to reach for the rag Yusuf insisted they hang on the wall by their bed.

A hand reached over Nicolo’s head and plucked the rag off the peg on the wall.

“I should not have done that without the oil,” Yusuf mourned. He gently wiped the back of Nicolo’s legs. “Did I hurt you?”

“Never,” Nicolo mumbled. He blinked blearily at the doorway. He thought he saw bright tiny eyes but then shadows tottered away with a soft flap of wings and the doorway was empty again.

“We really need a door,” Nicolo yawned. He rolled onto his back and gazed up at Yusuf.

“Eh? Of course, whatever you wish,” Yusuf muttered as he moved the rag over himself before pulling up his trousers back over his softened cock. He made a face at the rag, tossing it to the doorway before he pulled his sleep shirt over his head. His curls was in a wild disarray.

Nicolo wanted to bury his fingers into the thick hair but suspected they would need another bath if that happens. So he tucked his hands under his ass. He drowsily watched Yusuf use his tunic to clean Nicolo’s front.

Yusuf smiled to himself, humming as he moved the tunic gently over Nicolo’s stomach. His fingers were warm even through the shirt he held.

The overwhelming hot feeling returned, this time over Nicolo’s heart, rising up to his throat and...

“I love you,” Nicolo blurted out. His throat worked when Yusuf stilled.

“I should have said this many times.” Nicolo closed his eyes. “I am sorry. I-I never said this to anyone before. Did I say it too late? Should I not say it after this? I did not say it only because of this.”

Nicolo’s eyes opened when Yusuf’s palm cupped his chin. Yusuf was bent over him, his eyes overly bright, his smile small yet somehow also so bright.

“I know, _hobi_ ,” Yusuf croaked. “You tell me everyday in everything you do. I should tell you every day, every hour as well but...”

Yusuf sniffled loudly.

“The word ‘love’ is so small, too ordinary, too plain to truly say what I feel for you.” Yusuf blinked and a tear trickled down to his beard. “For once, I do not have the pretty words you deserve to hear.”

Nicolo wrapped his arms around Yusuf’s neck and pulled him down. He felt a few more tears against him and he hugged Yusuf tighter.

“I know,” Nicolo whispered into Yusuf’s ear. “You show me in everything you do as well.”

Yusuf clutched Nicolo and wept a bit more.

“...Yusuf? Will you promise me something?”

“Anything. Everything.” Yusuf would not let go.

Nicolo rested his head on Yusuf’s shoulder. Yusuf gave the best hugs.

“What you said before...” Nicolo cleared his throat. “It will happen?”

“Yes, of course, I swear. I promise.” Yusuf kissed under Nicolo’s jaw. “I need but a bit more to make it perfect for you.”

It was an odd thing to say when Yusuf himself will make it perfect. But when Nicolo said it out loud, Yusuf shed more tears into his shirt.

“Good,” Nicolo murmured. After hesitation, Nicolo added, “If you do not do what you promised, I think then I would be angry at you.”

Yusuf laughed into Nicolo’s shoulder.


	35. (Yusuf) - Somewhere outside of Alexandria, 12th century

“You are being watched, Nicolo,” Yusuf muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

Besides him, Nicolo pretended to adjust the longsword strapped to his hip and glanced over his right shoulder. His brow furrowed.

“I do not see anything,” Nicolo said without moving his lips. He smiled faintly at an elderly woman struggling with her basket of cured fish. He stepped in front of her, shielding her from any possible threat and with careful hand gestures, offered to help.

Yusuf bit back a grin that wanted to break free as the woman chattered by Nicolo’s ear. Nicolo was at first taken aback. The woman barely glanced at his sword. After a bit of hesitation, he nodded along, humming in that polite but perplexed way of his. She spoke in a dialect of Turkish mixed with Arabic. It echoed faintly of Yusuf’s homelands and beyond Nicolo’s comprehension. But his Nicolo tried as he dutifully carried a basket with both hands.

Eyes on Nicolo’s back, Yusuf followed, his smile fading into a frown. Should Hedi’s men chose this moment to attack, Nicolo would not have his hands free.

Yusuf trailed behind the pair, one hand casually moving to the dagger strapped to his left hip. He kept his other hand free to grab his scimitar that hung across his back, waving greetings to those waving back to ensure his hand stayed within reach of his sword.

They walked through the village, through the single row of stalls that served as their market. Yusuf kept his steps on the edge of Nicolo’s shadow, his ears open for sounds that rose high pitched in alarm rather than the cheerful ones.

As like for the past two days, there was nothing. The villagers eyed Nicolo and Yusuf with bemusement as they wandered the whole of the village trice in the morning, ate a modest meal outside of the village to watch the roads and then went around the village another three times before they went home.

“I still do not see them,” Nicolo said tersely, rejoining Yusuf’s side after he carried the basket into the woman’s stall. "Where are they?" 

“Eh?” Yusuf blinked at Nicolo. Then he remembered. And chuckled.

“Ah. Apologies. I meant the children we walked past.” Yusuf’s elbow gently knocked into Nicolo’s side. “I told you not to give them your sugared figs. They now follow you like our chickens in hopes of more.”

Nicolo’s brow knitted. He glanced past Yusuf’s shoulder where Yusuf suspected the littlest one was still staring wide-eyed at them. She did not have the same instinct to flee like her older siblings.

Nicolo raised his hand and hesitantly wiggled his fingers at someone behind Yusuf. Yusuf heard a giggle and the patter of small feet fleeing.

Yusuf wanted to tug Nicolo to him and kiss the baffled look off Nicolo’s face. Oh, his heart did not understand why the children adored him and why woman young and old greeted Nicolo easily.

But such gestures were not welcomed in many places. Yusuf kept a tally in his mind though of the many kisses he owes Nicolo. He would gladly repay Nicolo within the walls of their home.

“See?” Yusuf murmured as they continued walking, “they are not afraid of the sword you carry.”

Nicolo grimaced. “They do not have the memory of war.”

 _Yet_ was left unsaid.

“No,” Yusuf agreed. “They have the memory of sugared figs.” He bumped his elbow into Nicolo again. “Stop giving your food away to the little ones and our horse.”

Nicolo shot Yusuf a faint smirk. “You are only upset the horse refused your figs when you offered.”

“Bah, I did not offer it figs. I was throwing them at the ungrateful beast after it tried to bite me again.”

“Perhaps it thought your ass was a sugared fig.”

Yusuf hooked a finger under Nicolo's sword belt.

"Dear heart," Yusuf rumbled close to Nicolo's ear, "do you mean to say you think my ass is sweet?" 

Nicolo rolled his eyes and scoffed. Then blinked at the jovial call of their names from afar. His stride stuttered, slowing to let Yusuf’s profile cloak him and part of his longsword.

Yusuf sharply glanced over. Nicolo ignored him, his jaw set, his arms stiffer as they walk. His longsword rattled against Yusuf’s knee.

“Nicolo—“ Yusuf began.

“I am fine,” Nicolo bit out.

The longsword knocked against Yusuf’s hip. Yusuf grunted but did not step aside.

“No one is thinking you are—“ Yusuf sighed when someone shouted angrily, at something that wheeled over his wares. Nicolo flinched as if it was directed to him.

“We should walk behind the mill next,” Yusuf suggested. “The market is safe.”

Nicolo nodded jerkily.

“Nic—“

“Not everyone are easily charmed by a few sugared figs,” Nicolo muttered low enough Yusuf needed to lean in to hear. Nicolo’s longsword smacked against the back of Yusuf’s calf. That one was sure to leave a bruise, however short-lived.

“Those who remember would refuse an olive branch or a fig no matter how sincere the offer,” Nicolo sighed. His shoulders slumped. “I need to accept that some may refuse but I do not blame them.”

Yusuf waited until they were clear of the stalls before he leaned in once more.

“I would never refuse your sugared figs, _hobi_ ,” Yusuf purred, his hand reaching over. Under the guise of helping Nicolo straighten his sword, Yusuf cupped Nicolo’s cock under his trousers. He quickly hopped back, pulling his hand away when Nicolo squeaked.

Nicolo glared at Yusuf, who waggled his eyebrows.

“If they refuse you,” Yusuf added, sobering, “They are refusing me as well.”

Nicolo stared at Yusuf. His throat worked.

“Besides,” Yusuf murmured, a smirk growing, “It means more _sugared figs_ to myself, hm?”

With a sigh, shaking his head, Nicolo gave Yusuf a half-hearted shove away.

“You are ridiculous,” Nicolo muttered. However, his mouth curled at the corners and his ears pinked. His steps picked up and he pulled ahead of Yusuf, his gait a loose and easy stride once again as he turned towards the mill.

Yusuf grinned to himself and continued to follow.

He was distracted by the smooth thrust of Nicolo’s hips that he almost got his head cut off.

Yusuf yelped, jumped back and blocked the swing at the last moment.

Nicolo’s brow knitted. He stilled, lowering his sword.

“Are you all right? That was not a hard move. I thought you would easily avoid it.”

Yusuf panted, pointed to the sun sinking behind Nicolo and gestured to his eyes. It would not be to his benefit to admit his distraction to the shape of Nicolo’s cock under his trousers. Nor would it be beneficial to regal how it moved when Nicolo's hips did that sway to spin him back. No, admitting he was increasingly partial to how clothing clings to Nicolo would not bode well for him.

“Continue,” Yusuf wheezed.

The frown deepened. “Are you sure?”

Yusuf jumped forward, his scimitar arcing up. Nicolo huffed. He dodged the blow, his sword blocking the swing.

Sword and blade rang loud in the air. The longsword was heavier, but its reach made up for its weight. Yusuf found himself darting to avoid the tip more than finding an opening.

There was an echo of a memory; a sense of altered history of how they fought the first time. Yusuf did not smile as much or at all back then. The walls of the city he defended were to his back, the whine of metal and the messy spurts of spilled blood were to his front.

Nicolo did not smile then nor did he now. But the determination that darkened his eyes back then were lighter and richer now with a fondness. Yusuf could not help but react to it. He chuckled as Nicolo missed. He hooted when his scimitar crossed the sword.

"You are getting slow with your advanced years," Yusuf teased as he hopped back from the longsword. "Perhaps we should find a smith to make you a longer sword instead? A staff, perhaps? To swat at our enemies like they were flies!"

"Are you trying to slay me with your words?" Nicolo gasped, his eyes crinkled as he swept his leg under Yusuf's feet. He glowered when Yusuf leapt back on his feet. "Hold still."

"Ay, ay," Yusuf teased. "Does your eye sight fail you as well? Can you not see me before you? My poor Nicolo, am I moving too fast?"

Yusuf used the hilt of his blade to knock Nicolo's sword aside. He swerved around and tapped Nicolo's buttocks with the flat of the scimitar.

Nicolo sputtered as he spun around. "Yusuf," he half-scolded, half-laughed. He drew up to a striking stance, feet apart, shoulders readying.

Unbidden, Yusuf’s eyes wandered down to Nicolo's sweat damp trousers and the shape of a slender cock tucked slightly to the—

A mass of feathers and shiny black eyes shrieked and flapped and ruffled by the tip of Yusuf’s nose.

In all the centuries later, Yusuf will never admit that he had shrieked as well, flapping his arms at whatever fluffy monstrosity Nicolo tossed at his face. And he will never admit, under threat of anything, that he fell onto the grass on his ass, his scimitar clattering by his feet.

However, Yusuf will enjoy telling countless times of how Nicolo looked, doubled over, laughing to the point he was crying, a feather from the hen he sent Yusuf’s way stuck on his left cheek. He was pink-cheeked and happy.

“That,” Yusuf sputtered from the ground. He shooed the affronted chicken away, “was most unkind, _hobi_. And what if the feathered menace peck my eyes out?”

“They would grow back, like my ear did in Tanjari,” Nicolo managed, his chuckles fading, but his beautiful smile remained. Nicolo extended a hand towards Yusuf.

“This will teach you to look where you are supposed to and not...” Nicolo cleared his throat meaningfully.

Yusuf smiled up. He ignored the hand and folded his arms behind his head.

“Ah, or perhaps you secretly wish to temporarily blind me and make me nibble my way around in search of your cock.”

Nicolo flushed, stammered and then yelped as well when Yusuf captured his offered hand and yanked Nicolo to fall on top of him.

“Yusuf,” Nicolo grumbled, but his eyes were the color of a summer sea. “When you suggested we practice our swords before our evening meal, I expected more swords.”

“How do you expect me to fight when all you make me think about is laying you on this grass?” Yusuf rumbled. “I would have you here as my evening meal, but I fear it will upset our chickens.”

Nicolo pushed himself off Yusuf’s chest with an elbow on the grass. He huffed as he rolled to lay on the grass besides Yusuf instead. He gazed up at the sky slowly turning a shade of violet and red Yusuf thought would make a nice cloak for Nicolo. When he said this out loud, Nicolo scoffed. He thought such colors would fare better on Yusuf.

“I am a man with a gray life,” Nicolo murmured, his eyes still on the sky. “Such lively colors would be a waste on me.”

Yusuf’s chest twinge. It always does every time Nicolo says something like this.

“I hope,” Yusuf murmured, “Life with me will not be so gray, my heart.”

“Life with you,” Nicolo rasped, his voice suddenly thick, “has colors I do not even know the name of. To this day, I wonder what I have done to earn such a gift?”

And Nicolo said Yusuf has the pretty words.

Yusuf ran a knuckle across his chin, kneading his beard and hoping he was not grinning too broadly.

“You do not think it a curse?” Yusuf mused out loud. “The first year we traveled together, you often thought your God was punishing you.”

Nicolo was silent, his eyes towards the sky, his profile was serene like the statues Yusuf once gazed upon as a boy: carved blank faces yet with a warmth that glowed within like an ember. Nicolo’s nose was strong, a line that empathized the edge of his jaw and cheekbones. Nicolo’s profile could be mistaken as stern. Yet his eyes were far from hard. They were soft swirls of color that mist or sparkle by what light shines through that moment.

“I think...” Nicolo said hesitantly, stumbling over his words. “If I gained eternity, alone, without you, I would think it a curse.”

Yusuf blinked rapidly. He turned his head towards Nicolo, who still gazed at the sky. His ears were now a feverish flush as well.

“I think,” Yusuf murmured, “It would take me an eternity to find a word that truly encompass what you mean to me and how I feel about you. But until then, will you humbly accept “I love you” for now?”

Nicolo closed his eyes. He sniffed loudly, yet his eyes were dry when he opened them again. He turned on his side, facing Yusuf.

Yusuf smiled. He brushed away the feather still on Nicolo’s cheek.

“Would I be too greedy to ask you to tell me again?” Nicolo whispered.

Yusuf rolled to face Nicolo. “Should I haggle? How many more times should I assault your poor ears with such simple words?”

“...forever?” Nicolo ventured, hesitant.

Yusuf smiled as he sat on with an elbow.

“I think that is more than a fair price,” Yusuf breathed. He leaned in, pressing his body over Nicolo’s, aligning the heat and swells between their legs.

“No more swords then?” Nicolo groaned out as Yusuf rocked against him. “Should we not talk about what to have for our evening me— _Yusuf_.”

“I,” Yusuf growled as he hooked fingers into Nicolo’s trousers to pull them down, “have decided I will have you as the evening meal.”

Nicolo’s eyes flared, a blue no water or sky could ever achieve. He wrapped his arms around Yusuf’s shoulders and let himself be devoured.


	36. (Nicolo) - Somewhere outside of Alexandria, 12th century

“Do not move.”

Nicolo froze. He held his breath. His back felt cold, the arms around him were absent. The blanket pulled over his head was now gathered in thick folds under his bare legs.

Yusuf’s whisper was behind him, low and thick as if he only roused from sleep. Which itself was odd; Nicolo often woke up first.

“What is it?” Nicolo said, staying still. His eyes flitted to their doorway.

There was nothing at the doorway, but it did not mean a threat did not exist. Nicolo was acutely aware of his undress. Yusuf tried his best to devour Nicolo right there on the grass last night. Nicolo thought Yusuf drained him of every drop. But after their true evening meal, Yusuf declared he was still famished and...well...their clothing were...somewhere.

But it also meant they were now vulnerable, exposed in every sense of the way like this. And their swords were—

“Ah,” Yusuf rasped. Suddenly, his hand dropped on Nicolo’s right ankle.

“I did not mean to alarm you,” Yusuf said. His thumb smoothed over Nicolo’s ankle bone. “I, I woke up early and, I mean...”

Nicolo did not pull his foot away from Yusuf’s grasp. He carefully rolled onto his back. He resisted pulling his hands down to cover himself when he caught the strain crinkling the corners of Yusuf’s eyes.

“Bad dream?” Nicolo murmured. He raised his other foot and brushed it over Yusuf’s knee.

Yusuf sat cross-legged by Nicolo’s feet, his hair a fray from his hands running through it. He kept Nicolo’s foot in his hands, stroking the top to the ankle with his thumb.

With a sigh, Yusuf murmured little sounds that sounded like they could have been words. He studied Nicolo's foot, playfully tweaked the smallest toe, chuckling when Nicolo's foot twitched in response.

Nicolo studied Yusuf and the way his mouth curled up at the corners, then down and then back up again as if Yusuf could not decide if he wanted to smile or not.

"You are still too thin," Yusuf muttered. He palmed Nicolo's ankle. "I would think I have starved you had I not seen you eat the second bowl of grain last night."

"It was one of your better imaginative cooking attempts," Nicolo replied. His eyes swept across Yusuf's shoulders and the slight slump. "I did not have an urge to feed it to our hens instead."

"Ha," Yusuf shot back. It was a weak retort; his mouth did not fully turn up.

"Yusuf," Nicolo whispered. He tapped Yusuf's knee with his other foot again. "What troubles you? The dream?" 

“A small one,” Yusuf murmured. “I did not have the heart to wake you. Many times, dreams disturb your sleep not mine.” He gazed at Nicolo, his weary eyes lingering on Nicolo's face.

"It does make my heart light to see you sleep with such peace and content. I loathed the thought of destroying it."

“There is no peace if I wake to see you in such shadow,” Nicolo said, drowsy, lulled by the feather soft strokes on his foot. “What was your dream about?”

“I do not recall. Truly, it is not a lie,” Yusuf dismissed it. “But I woke up with the desperate urge to see you even though I was gifted with you warm in my embrace.”

Yusuf shrugged. 

"I can not explain it. It felt like you were a mirage and would be taken from me. I needed to see you. All of you."

Nicolo considered Yusuf.

"It is not a small dream if it leaves you this anxious." Nicolo started to sit up, but a flash of panic on Yusuf's expression stilled him. He settled back on their bed and sleepily watched Yusuf cradle Nicolo's foot.

"Does Hedi's men worry you?" Nicolo studied Yusuf as he grimaced. "It has been a few days. Perhaps I was wrong and the village truly is safe."

Yusuf grunted.

"If not," Nicolo continued. "We are there."

"We are but only two, Nicolo," Yusuf reminded Nicolo. "Two watching over a village of almost a hundred souls, not counting the young."

Nicolo's throat worked. "You think we may not be enough?"

"I think we should plan for the worse." Yusuf's eyes clouded over. "You and I both know even with the best plans, a city can still fall."

Nicolo dropped his head back. He nodded.

Yusuf exhaled. "I did not mean--"

"No," Nicolo murmured. "What you say hold truth. In all our years, we have seen how the tide of violence can destroy so much with so little effort. You are right. We need to prepare for the worse." 

"And we will, you and I," Yusuf assured Nicolo. He patted Nicolo's ankle. "Seeing you like this always inspires me. Seeing you gives me life"

"Once more, not a lie," Nicolo commented dryly. He stared meaningfully at the dark nest shadowed between Yusuf’s legs. Yusuf's cock jutted up proudly. "Does this mean I need not bother to make food to break fast over?" 

“You would think,” Yusuf snorted, “I have my fill of you last night, but watching you sleep, my hunger returns.”

Yusuf's expression still bore shadows that hurt to see. 

Thinking quickly, Nicolo drew up one leg and noted Yusuf's eyes following up to his groin.

“I always have the urge to see you as well,” Nicolo murmured. He curled a loose hand over his cock and gave it a slow stroke.

Yusuf hummed. His eyes narrowed and a smile slowly formed.

It was Nicolo’s only warning before Yusuf yanked him closer by his foot.

“Yusuf,” Nicolo huffed as Yusuf tugged Nicolo over his lap. He began enthusiastically kissing Nicolo’s throat. 

Nicolo stretched his neck as he squirmed to seat fully on Yusuf's lap. He twisted, his stirring cock brushing over the firm planes of Yusuf's stomach. 

Yusuf groaned into the crook of Nicolo’s shoulder. He surged up, his erection lining up with Nicolo’s cock.

Nicolo shuddered. He twisted, straddling Yusuf’s hips. He nudged Yusuf onto his back.

“Ah, my Nicolo,” Yusuf breathed. His eyes shone as he watched Nicolo rearranged himself until Yusuf’s cock tapped Nicolo’s cheeks.

“Nicolo,” Yusuf groaned as Nicolo rocked back into Yusuf’s erection. Nicolo reached behind himself. Nicolo guided Yusuf’s cock between his cheeks, flushing as he imagined how he must look.

Whatever embarrassment Nicolo would have felt fled after Yusuf gave a guttural groan. Yusuf’s hips jerked up.

“What spell did you cast on me? Why can I not get enough of you?” Yusuf moaned. He gripped Nicolo’s hips, holding him still as he rutted up into the cheeks, his erection rubbing over Nicolo’s taint again and again.

That hot, too big feeling sat within Nicolo again. He whimpered, rocking back as much as he could into Yusuf’s thrusts. He could feel the velvety sacs brushing under his. It was so much, too much, yet not enough.

“Sh,” Yusuf hushed when Nicolo choked. “Soon. I will get lost inside you, fill you until you spill, oh my heart, my Nicolo, I hope never to forget how you look right now and how you will look then. _Hobi_ , do not stay quiet. Let me hear you. Let me hear my Nicolo...”

It was like Yusuf was a stallion between Nicolo’s legs. Powerful and thrumming with strength, bucking under Nicolo unchallenged, tearing across the desert, pounding...pounding...

“Yusuf,” Nicolo groaned. He clutched Yusuf’s arms that stretched towards his hips. He felt bruised, aching, burning between his legs, his cock bobbing frantically as he rode Yusuf.

“Let me hear you,” Yusuf breathed. His hips snapped up, his cock striking over Nicolo’s entrance with all the surety of a sword.

“Ah, ah!” Nicolo cried out. He barely held on. 

Yusuf thrust, his hips rising off their bed, the strength of his torso lifting Nicolo, bouncing Nicolo while his hands held Nicolo steady.

Yusuf groaned as he came, his release burning hot as it dribbled between Nicolo’s cheeks. Yusuf weakly thrust again, each stroke stronger as he regained his strength. He kept Nicolo over his body, his cock still not spent and still trying to conquer Nicolo.

Fingers dug into the meat of Nicolo’s hips. Nicolo’s thighs burned trying to stay straddled, spread too wide over Yusuf’s torso. Nicolo slumped forward, panting as his forehead rested on Yusuf's chest. He bear down each time Yusuf bucked up. His entrance fluttered, convulsed. He _ached_.

"Yusuf," Nicolo groaned. "This feeling...please..."

The pace was a blur, bodies crashing against each other in a tangle of damp skin and limbs.

Nicolo heard himself, heard his words spilling out faster, louder, drowning out Yusuf's urging as he let loose the need, want, the absolute desperation to have all of Yusuf, give all to Yusuf and lock each other into a primal connection that nothing could break, even death itself.

"Nicolo," Yusuf sobbed, his fingers leaving bruises that promise ecstasy, not pain. "I love you. My beautiful Nicolo, my everything--I love you."

Nicolo moaned as he came, spilling across Yusuf's chest, splattering Yusuf's beard with his release and his own "I love yous" tumbling out of his lips. He heard himself whimpering, thrashing in both body and mind as he gave into the haze of blinding light behind his eyes. 

"Each time, it feels like I am going blind," Nicolo gasped. He kissed Yusuf's chin. 

"If so, I am glad my last sight will be your face."

Yusuf growled, a hand moving around to Nicolo's damp taint. A finger probed, entered and possessed.

"Oh," Nicolo whimpered. "Yus--Oh...please...more..."

One became two. Nicolo rode the fingers, growing dizzy as he felt a storm growing inside his chest, forcing his air out into small needy sounds. He keened, felt his erection renew as the third finger slipped in. 

He was full. But he also felt empty. Nicolo cried, unsure why, pleading over Yusuf's "Soon, soon..." until the fourth finger pushed through.

Nicolo's breath stuttered at the stretch. He clenched around the fingers, gasping as he rutted into Yusuf's groin and thought of how thick Yusuf's cock was compared to Yusuf's fingers inside him. 

" _Hobi_ ," Yusuf choked. He sounded destroyed. "Look at you. Oh, look at you..."

Nicolo squeezed Yusuf's arms. It felt like he could break bone. Was this how Yusuf felt last night? Falling into a never-ending hot pit of hunger, starved for more, the ache gnawing in his belly for more. The urge to be gentle, to be careful, to not hurt was swept away as if flayed apart in a sandstorm. 

All that remained was this need. Nothing else remained. Nothing else mattered.

"Do you feel it? How it rises to fill every part of you? This need? Let me hear you," Yusuf rasped. "I feel you against me. I need to hear you. Louder, _hobi_. Deafen my ears until all I hear is you."

Yusuf's fingers thrust, deeper, so large, so full, taking over every part of Nicolo. They piston in, thick and forceful as if pushing that storm up Nicolo's chest, up his throat, until...

Nicolo wailed, tears down his face as it felt like his second release was wrenched out from within. It rang, drowning own Yusuf's shout as their cocks spilled together, adding to Nicolo's claim all over Yusuf's chest. Their seed mingled and smeared across both their bodies. When Nicolo collapsed over Yusuf, Yusuf wrapped arms and legs tight around Nicolo and white fluid dribbled out between their bodies.

Nicolo panted, curled on top of Yusuf, spent, too hot and absolutely content to stay there forever.

"I think they heard you in the village," Yusuf murmured. He kissed the top of Nicolo's head. His fingers leisurely stroked inside Nicolo until it was too much and left Nicolo feeling too big for his shrinking skin. But when Yusuf's fingers slipped out one by one, it left him a worse feeling.

"I know," Yusuf kissed Nicolo's brow when a whine creaked out at the loss. "My heart, my all, I feel the loss of your warmth as keenly."

Nicolo breathed slowly against Yusuf's chest. The smell of musk and sweat was strong yet his limbs refused to move.

"We should go to the village," Nicolo mumbled. "Do you think we can teach the hens to pull a cart? I do not think I can move."

Yusuf chuckled against Nicolo's hair.


	37. (Yusuf) - Somewhere outside of Alexandria, 12th century

“Not like that,” Yusuf groaned. “Again.”

The iron bar, a former axle for one of the melon carts that was beyond repair, sailed in a perfect arc.

But hands slick with sweat could not hold and it spun towards Nicolo’s head.

Nicolo hugged the little girl who trailed behind him and threw them to the ground.

The iron bar spun past, over their heads. Until it buried itself into the sand filled barrels the villagers stacked by Yusuf’s horse.

The beast screeched in outrage.

“Not my fault!” Yusuf bellowed, not turning around. He fixed his glare at Izem and the mill owner’s two sons.

Standing in the flat dried dirt in front of the baker’s home, the three youths gaped back.

“Nicolo?” Yusuf asked tersely as he tamped down the urge to shout.

“We are fine, are we not, Karânî?”

The little girl tucked under Nicolo giggled.

Nicolo prodded the girl to find her siblings. She skipped around Yusuf and his three pupils with a small sachet of sugared figs in her tiny fist and what looked like meal rolled within an aubergine in her mouth.

“Nicolo.” Yusuf gestured to the three to continue to practice their swings, this time with old wooden sticks instead. “Was that not your lunch?”

Nicolo made a mild face, a hand over his stomach as if it was swollen rather than still despairingly sunken.

“Any more food and I will burst. Izem’s mother fed us bread. Shah’s grandmother insisted we eat a bowl of her mutton and _koskos_ —“

“ _Kuskus_ ,” Yusuf corrected absentmindedly.

“They did not have to pay us,” Nicolo murmured as he sidled up to Yusuf.

“They are not,” Yusuf returned. He glanced over catching the shadows cast on Nicolo’s eyes. “The people here know we would not accept their coin. They only wish to show us their thanks.”

Nicolo nodded. He scoffed under his breath.

“What is it?” Yusuf covered his face when one of the youths tripped over the other. The three tumbled to the ground.

“Any more of their thanks,” Nicolo said ruefully, “We will need a cart to take me home.”

Yusuf shook his head, chuckling. “I was not the one who had a second helping. Although, I am offended you did not show the same enthusiasm over mine last week.”

Nicolo glanced sideways at Yusuf. “Shah’s grandmother made me aware it is not suppose to look green.”

Yusuf beamed. “Was it not imaginative?”

“Very, to the point of unbelievable,” Nicolo said wryly. He neatly avoided Yusuf’s elbow, hopping back but staying close.

Nicolo watched the three boys, barely men, as they tried to mimic what Yusuf showed them.

“Yusuf,” Nicolo murmured, his brow knitting.

“I know,” Yusuf exhaled. What is the point of teaching them how to swing a sword when there are none to spare?

“It has been only two days,” Nicolo offered. “They are much improved?”

Yusuf fought back the grimace he wanted to make. When he suggested teaching some of the young men how to defend themselves, they both expected something that fell short to what they hoped.

“Most of the able took to the seas for work. Those who remain can throw nets by the sea but can barely lift my sword much less yours.” Izem was the only one among the three with some experience, having worked on rocky ships since he was ten. But the mill owner’s two sons would not reach twenty for another year. They would need as much to grow accustomed to the heft of a sword, much less how to swing it.

“As impossible as it seems,” Yusuf muttered, “Our Izem is the oldest and the best of our humble defense.”

Yusuf caught Nicolo gazing around him with open worry. He wished he did not say anything.

“It has been a week since Hedi died by our feet,” Yusuf said low. He rolled his eyes at his pupils. His voice rose to get their attention. “The left one—no, his left!”

To Nicolo, Yusuf added, “Hedi’s men may not know to look here. Or they are without direction with Hedi not returning.” Yusuf scrubbed his face with a hand. “If only we found more than three to train.”

“I spoke with the metal smith before,” Nicolo said, his eyes tracking Izem as the baker's son veered away from a blow with far too many flaws. “He has some axes that he was paid to sharpen, but his customers agreed to contribute them to the village’s defense instead. They are lighter than our swords and they are familiar with them.”

Yusuf grimaced. “Dull axes on unskilled hands are more a danger to themselves than to their enemy,” he sighed. He eyed Nicolo. “I wondered what took so long. I was about to go find you.”

Hearing himself, Yusuf hastily cleared his throat. “I mean, I did not, I wanted to—“

“I know.” Nicolo shifted his foot closer, his boot pressing into the side of Yusuf’s boot before pulling back. “I also have an idea I wanted to discuss with some of the stall sellers.”

Yusuf studied Nicolo’s profile; his expression was distant.

“It was fine?” Yusuf knew none were merchants, only villagers trying to earn a bit of coin, but Nicolo was reluctant to linger by their stalls in the past.

Nicolo’s boot pressed against Yusuf’s again.

“It was fine,” Nicolo said. “We spoke of what they have on hand to use as defense should they are caught unaware. It...it was a good discussion.”

Yusuf ached at how relieved Nicolo sounded. He wanted to loop his arm around Nicolo’s middle. Instead, he copied Nicolo, his boot brushing along Nicolo’s. But instead of pulling back after, Yusuf leaned into Nicolo’s ear.

“When we get home, I will do my very best to make you scream like you did before,” Yusuf murmured. He hooked a finger into the loop that was attached to the longsword. He tugged once before stepping away.

Nicolo coughed, loud enough, Izem and the others looked up in concern.

“Let us stop here,” Yusuf boomed, “we will rest, yea? Will someone get my friend some water? He seems rather warm under the s—“

Yusuf yelped when Nicolo firmly stepped on Yusuf’s toes.

Behind Yusuf, the horse burst out into snorts and snickers.

“Ah, my heart,” Yusuf mumbled. “That last one nearly shook off our new door. I would be impressed were not it took us such labor to install the door.”

"Would not have taken so long," Nicolo yawned, "Had you not drop the mallet on your foot."

"I would not have dropped it if those hens stayed in their pen, not under my foot," Yusuf scoffed. He kissed the top of Nicolo’s head rested over his heart. 

"It also would not have taken so long if we did not stay to help them finish filling the barrels with sand," Yusuf returned. "But it was a good idea. A wall of some kind would provide protection to some." If only there were more barrels. Or more able hands. Or even more axes.

"We need to help them." Nicolo appeared content to stay half draped over Yusuf. Yusuf was more than happy to obliged him.

"And we will," Yusuf exhaled. "I only wish I knew for certain it would be enough."

"Is it not enough," Nicolo mumbled into Yusuf's chest, "that we want to help?"

" _Hobi_ ," Yusuf whispered. He brushed a hand down Nicolo's nape and traced the curve of his spine. "My beautiful _hobi_."

Nicolo idly rubbed his cheek over Yusuf's nipple and went back to listening to Yusuf's heart.

"It is like music," Nicolo muttered. He did not seem to realize he said it out loud. Which made Yusuf all the more want to pull Nicolo into a fierce embrace.

"It sings only to you," Yusuf murmured. He slipped his fingers through Nicolo’s hair, still damp from their bath. He rubbed slow circles down the line of Nicolo's back. 

Every so often, Yusuf's fingers encountered the faint indent of old white lines, cut before their strange condition, before they knew each other, before everything.

Yusuf's fond smile dimmed. It pained Yusuf, in an echo of whenever he thought about Dirar. No matter how many times he marveled at the privilege to touch Nicolo this way, the texture of Nicolo's tender life before Yusuf made his heart ache like it cradled an open would.

"If only," Yusuf murmured out loud as he continued to smooth gentle palms down Nicolo's back. He wished he had the magic to polish old wounds away. But Nicolo did not need that. He somehow came through gleaming as the brightest stone Yusuf ever saw. 

"Hm?" Nicolo yawned. He was no longer hoarse, but sadly, too spent to share Yusuf's renewed enthusiasm. 

Speaking of which...

"Yusuf," Nicolo grumbled drowsily as such example of Yusuf's revived vigor currently pressed into Nicolo's belly.

"Pay no mind to it," Yusuf murmured, his hand curling around Nicolo's nape. He rubbed at the soft wisps of hair along the hairline and threaded his fingers again through damp strands to check for tangles.

"I will deal with it later," Yusuf went on. "I loathed leaving you just yet."

"Then do not leave." Nicolo rested his chin on Yusuf's chest so his eyes could meet his. "Stay. I could..." A thought flitted across Nicolo's face.

"Or you could," Nicolo mumbled.

Yusuf blinked. "Eh?"

Nicolo's ears pinked and the lovely shade distracted Yusuf until he attached it with Nicolo's words.

"You...oh..." Now it was Yusuf's turn to flush. He cleared his throat. "You wish to watch me while I..."

"I could not stop thinking about it," Nicolo rasped. "After we...when you asked me to meet you by the stream. You did not know I was there. You took hold of yourself and..."

Nicolo's throat worked.

"You seem to take pleasure in seeing when I..." Nicolo's eyes slid to a spot past Yusuf's shoulder. "It was just a thought."

Yusuf's mouth was dry yet his skin elsewhere prickled with sweat at the thought of those ever-deep eyes on him as he coaxed his own pleasure out, Nicolo's name pursed on his lips.

"Sit up," Yusuf rasped. He tracked Nicolo as he sat up against the wall. Yusuf smiled encouragingly at Nicolo's wide eyes even though he himself felt his heart thundering against his chest. It was different when it was within the throes or within the quiet hours and dusky shadows. But on purpose? Just this?

"Wait," Yusuf croaked, before Nicolo moved too far away. "I have a request."

"Anything," Nicolo shuffled closer to Yusuf.

Yusuf locked gazes with Nicolo. 

"Tell me."

Nicolo canted his head.

Yusuf's lips curled at a corner, his voice dropping. 

"Tell me what you want me to do. And I will show you."

And there. Nicolo's mouth parted, in a breathy, "Oh" as his eyes swirled. They were gems of a sea, blue yet also everything else, as if the sky surrendered into Nicolo and offered the night sky as well. 

Unable to speak, Nicolo nodded. He looked dazed, his throat moving as he gulped. But no words, no. Nicolo was speechless, but hopefully not for too long.

Yusuf wished he could be casual as if he knew exactly how he should sit, but in truth, too many questions spun in his mind.

Should he sprawl with his legs spread—no, that would look too obscene. Lying on his side--hm, awkward, he may roll off the bed. On his back? No, he wanted to watch Nicolo watch him. On his kne—no, absolutely not for either of them. Sitting on his heels? Hm, that may prove tricky on the bed. Standing? No that would surely look strange.

In the end, Yusuf copied Nicolo, sitting with his knees folded cross-legged, his back to the wall, angled so his left knee touched Nicolo's right. They studied each other silently.

Yusuf's eyebrow rose in challenge.

"Would it be easier if you speak in lingua?" Yusuf teased. "You still struggle with Greek and Arabic."

Nicolo's eyes narrowed at the taunt. His shoulders relaxed as he considered Yusuf.

"Touch yourself," Nicolo murmured. He tsked when Yusuf reached down. "But loosely. No. Looser."

Yusuf's fingers barely grazed over his erection as he curled his hand around it. He carefully rolled his hips, grazing heated skin into his palm.

"No," Nicolo spoke up, his voice low and soft. "You can not do that. Just...hold it."

Yusuf stared at Nicolo. "Just..." He swallowed and spread his fingers wider. He could only feel the heat of his cock licking warm tendrils at the fleshy part of his palm.

"This does not count as touching," Yusuf managed. Nicolo's gaze on his fist and cock was intense and unwavering.

"You can touch yourself," Nicolo whispered, "with your thumb."

Yusuf exhaled as he pressed his thumb down the length of his cock. 

"Stop," Nicolo whispered. "Pull your thumb away."

Yusuf bit the inside of his cheek from groaning. The touch was too brief of a relief. His cock ached for the pressure.

"Now a finger. Just one," Nicolo added when Yusuf tried to form a ring with his thumb and finger.

Yusuf's arm shook trying to steer his hand to obey.

"You can use two fingers now."

Yusuf almost sigh in relief as the loop formed by his fingers glided over his cock.

"Another."

It was not enough to make a strong grip, but the pressure of the fingers felt wonderful.

"One more," Nicolo whispered. "You can use your hand, no, wait, not too tight."

It was a relief to touch yet unsatisfying as his hand only skimmed over his cock, the heat of his erection licking at his skin.

"Nicolo," Yusuf rumbled. "Tell me to come. Please."

Nicolo made a quiet sound. 

"No," Nicolo breathed.

"N-no?" Yusuf wanted to weep. His hand was a brush over his skin, pulled too tight and warmed too hot.

"No," Nicolo repeated. His voice went thick and smooth like silk.

"I forbid it."

It felt like Nicolo's voice itself curled around Yusuf's cock. Yusuf's breath caught, his hand skimming up and down his cock. It felt like a breeze; hot winds blowing across an even hotter desert. Woeful comfort, but was still desperately craved for.

Yusuf whimpered. He could not help it. His hand picked up speed despite its unsatisfying friction. His left leg drew up, his heated face resting on a sweaty thigh as he continued to brush over his erection with weak strokes.

"You can curl tighter—no, not that tight. Yes, like that."

Yusuf groaned at the grip, a tantalizing promise. His cock twitched, needing more to release, but no, no, he can not. Nicolo did not say so. 

" _Hob—_ please. Tell me," Yusuf panted. His right leg twitched, threatening to kick out. His body shrank around his cock, weeping from neglect, burning with the hint of his hand and want of its friction.

"Pull your hand away."

Yusuf bit his lower lip. He will not beg and yet a whine seeped out of clamped lips as he released his cock. It felt too engorged, too large for his body. 

"Lie down," Nicolo said softly, steel in his voice yet rolling and lilting in a way Yusuf could never refuse.

"This will be my death," Yusuf wheezed as he eased down to the bed. His limbs shook. His cock bounced boldly between his legs, dark and bruised looking from neglect.

Yusuf kept his left leg drawn up, exposing his need to Nicolo, unable to stop himself from the breathy, choked sounds escaping his mouth. Nicolo's eyes swept over him, his gaze dark and purposeful. 

But Nicolo did not reach. Nicolo did not touch.

Yusuf's breathing was harsh in his ears, a strange gasp dragged over his ribs. He sounded desperate. He sounded frantic. And yet Nicolo would do nothing.

"My heart," Yusuf plead at last. "Please..."

Nicolo approached, on his hands and knees, silent, expression blank. He bore all the alertness of a desert cat stalking prey as he settled to hunch between Yusuf's legs. He sat there, framed by Yusuf's knees, both drawn up in hope. 

"There is a dish of oil by your head," Nicolo suddenly said. His eyes stayed on Yusuf. "For you."

Yusuf stared up at Nicolo. "You do not wish to do it?"

Nicolo's lips lifted up at the corners. "I only want to watch."

Yusuf groaned, but reached for the oil. His fingers shook and some spilled onto their thin mattress. He grumbled, jokingly called Nicolo cruel, but could not help but groan in relief as he wrapped a slick hand around himself.

His cock seemed to leap in his grip as his fingers curled tighter, his thumb flicking at the beaded tip.

Yusuf's pace was hurried, spurred on by the glow in Nicolo's eyes. He felt his hips rolling up, thrusting into his grip. Heat build low in his belly, tightening his lower back, but--Oh, it was not enough.

Nicolo settled careful palms on Yusuf's inner thighs. The hands did not move nor did they grasp. They stayed on top of the tender skin, light and warm, as Yusuf pumped his erection, choking and whimpering as he fought for release.

"Nicolo," Yusuf gasped. "Please...I can not...P-please..."

Nicolo said nothing. He kept watching.

The oil warmed over Yusuf's cock. He sped up, his hips slapping up and noisily into his fist. The oil gleamed on Yusuf's skin yet it was not enough.

"My heart," Yusuf stammered. "I b-beg of you..."

With a rough sound, Nicolo pushed Yusuf's hand away and swallowed Yusuf in a single breath.

Yusuf shouted, his voice cracking with a mix of relief and shock. He slipped down into Nicolo's throat without pause. He moaned but that too was cut off when slick fingers slipped under his buttocks.

"Yes," Yusuf nearly sobbed, "Please..." He hitched up his hips off the bed, felt himself sliding even deeper into a delicious heat just as Nicolo's fingertip massaged his rimmed entrance.

Yusuf heard himself babbling, drowning in the sparks of light behind his eyes. Nicolo's finger slipped in, as sure as his own scimitar sliding into its sheath. He begged, his ass clenching around Nicolo's finger until a second carefully breached him.

The bed creaked as Nicolo stayed knelt between Yusuf's legs, cheeks hollowed as he sucked. His fingers, long, blunt and simply glorious, darted faster within Yusuf like a sculptor carving Yusuf out of stone, gifting him shape. Each stroke lanced over the perfect spot repeatedly, there was no time or breath to shriek at its wonderful accuracy.

"Oh, oh," Yusuf moaned. "Yes, there, there..." 

His heels dug into the mattress, striking the wood underneath. Nicolo's lips pursed tight around the base of Yusuf's cock, squeezing, squeezing, his fingers now three, moving with an ease that would have made Yusuf blush. 

His entire body felt too hot as his hips jerked up off the mattress, higher, helplessly, thrusting frantically into Nicolo's mouth.

...his fingers, his mouth, his eyes fixed on Yusuf's. They never left. They echoed what Yusuf has lately growled into Nicolo's skin.

_Mine._

The bed cracked under Yusuf's fist. His heels skidded to stay rooted under Nicolo's mouth. His hips slammed up too hard and Nicolo gagged, but refused to pull free. 

_Mine,_ sea gray eyes said.

_Mine._

Yusuf threw his head back and his mouth fell open as he came.

There felt a moment of nothingness, a sandstorm wrapped around Yusuf's being. He laid there, his cheeks and beard damp with tears, the soreness and fullness in his ass regretfully gone and the quiet slurping sounds of Nicolo milking Yusuf dry of every drop.

Yusuf whined, was aware he was whining, but could not care when Nicolo parted his lips and Yusuf's spent cock slipped out.

Nicolo rested his chin on Yusuf's thigh. He studied Yusuf, his eyes unreadable.

With ill ease, Yusuf remembered feeling Nicolo gag around his cock. He opened his mouth to croak an apology when Nicolo slowly smiled.

"You screamed."

Yusuf blinked at Nicolo. And frowned.

"I did not." Yusuf tugged one of his ears, but the gesture was exhausting and his hand flopped to the bed. 

"And you broke the bed," Nicolo observed when Yusuf's hand dipped into the depression on the mattress.

Yusuf glared red-rimmed up at Nicolo.

"The bed broke because of shoddy workmanship."

"You built the bed," Nicolo pointed out. He smirked into Yusuf's leg when Yusuf's mouth snapped shut.

Yusuf dropped his head back. He could not help but grin though. Nicolo was certainly bolder now, in a way Yusuf looked forward to.

"What?" Nicolo asked suspiciously.

Yusuf raised his head up and smirked at Nicolo presently draped over his leg, rutting his own erection along Yusuf's calf.

"Just planning for my revenge," Yusuf said.

Nicolo stilled. His eyes narrowed.

Yusuf burst out laughing. He almost knocked into Nicolo.

"Now you truly look like a disgruntled ca—All right, all right." Yusuf snickered as Nicolo tackled him.

They wrestled briefly, grapples that gentled and soon, they were curled into each other, flushed and exhausted.

"Yusuf." Nicolo pulled his ear away from Yusuf's heart. He gazed back with serious eyes.

Yusuf's thumb wiped over Nicolo's lower lip, catching the shimmer of his swallowed release.

"I know," Yusuf murmured. "I think you are ready, too." He sighed as he felt Nicolo wrap his arms tighter around him. Yusuf held Nicolo as close as their bodies allowed.

"I think we both are, _hobi._ "


	38. (Nicolo) - Somewhere outside of Alexandria, 12th century

“No, you have enough,” Nicolo said as he frowned. “Do you not think you are asking for too much?”

Brown eyes stared up unblinking.

Nicolo set his jaw.

“No,” Nicolo repeated, firmer.

He could see himself in those eyes. They seemed brighter the longer they gazed up at him in a silent plea.

Shoulders slumping, Nicolo sighed.

“Just this once,” Nicolo warned as he bent down.

A chuckle reached Nicolo’s ears.

“You say that each time.”

Nicolo glared over his shoulder at Yusuf leaning against the house. Yusuf decided to pull up sleep trousers, but wrapped the blanket around his bare torso instead of pulling on his tunic.

“You complain I woke you when I rose to feed the chickens and yet here you are,” Nicolo complained as he reached for the bucket by his feet. He scooped a small amount of seed into a hand. He turned back and blinked.

Now all three hens were by his feet.

Yusuf chuckled again. “See what you have wrought? You have spoiled them. It is a miracle they can still walk about. I would think you were fattening them up for a meal than for eggs.”

Nicolo looked down at the birds peering hopefully up at him and his hand.

“They looked hungry,” Nicolo said weakly as he cast out the seeds in a low arc so they would not have to totter far. One loitered long enough to affectionately peck his sandal before chasing after the others for its share.

Arms wrapped around Nicolo’s middle from behind.

“They are chickens,” Yusuf murmured into the crook of Nicolo’s left shoulder. “They always look hungry.”

Nicolo leaned into Yusuf’s searching mouth.

“Is this why you insist on feeding me so much?” Nicolo asked. He turned his head, but Yusuf was now nibbling down the line of his other shoulder.

“I always look hungry?” Nicolo turned towards that shoulder, but Yusuf went back to his left shoulder again.

“Yes,” Yusuf said too seriously. “You look like I have never fed you.”

“I have always looked like this. I can feed myself,” Nicolo retorted. He canted his head back to the left. “I have since I was a chi—will you hold still?”

Nicolo huffed, exasperated when Yusuf’s lips went back to his right shoulder. Yusuf snickered as his lips skimmed up to under Nicolo’s ear, darting away when Nicolo turned that way.

“Yusuf,” Nicolo grumbled. He twisted around to face Yusuf instead.

With a snort, Yusuf loosened his grip so Nicolo could turn. He tugged the blanket over his shoulders to cover Nicolo’s as well.

“Mm, morning, my Nicolo,” Yusuf murmured. His beard tickled Nicolo’s chin as he dropped small kisses on Nicolo’s cheeks.

“Morning?” Nicolo scoffed. “The sun is up. We should break fast and head into the village.”

“The sun has only risen. The sky has yet to reflect the blue of your eyes! Come back to bed. There is time for many things besides food.”

Yusuf always said the oddest things.

“My eyes are not blue,” Nicolo muttered, but he did not step away. Yusuf’s blanket was warm and comfortable around him. “My eyes are a dull gray that poorly mimics the sky.”

“ _Hobi,_ ” Yusuf murmured. He picked at a corner of the blanket. He smiled with a tinge of sorrow Nicolo did not understand. Yusuf brushed a thumb under Nicolo’s eye. He turned, Nicolo now under his arm, the blanket still draped over both of them.

“I should check the nets,” Nicolo reminded Yusuf, who took the feed bucket before Nicolo could. He found himself steered towards their dwelling. “Yusuf...”

Yusuf hung the bucket out of reach of the hens on a peg. “We can check later.”

“We should head to the village when there is more daylight. I know it has been two weeks, but the village is still—“

“We will, but food first. No, bed first and then food.”

Nicolo huffed, grumbling under his breath. But then Yusuf tugged Nicolo against his side, his body warm, solid and smelling somehow of sleep.

“We do not have time,” Nicolo sighed even as he hunched into the shelter of the blanket and Yusuf’s arm.

Yusuf’s lips brushed over Nicolo’s temples.

“We do have time,” Yusuf murmured into Nicolo’s hair. “All the time in the world and I want to savor each moment. We will make time, my heart. Yea?”

Nicolo slowly nodded. As soon as they opened the door, he turned into Yusuf’s eager mouth.

Yusuf tasted of mint tea. His hands were soft as they slipped under Nicolo’s tunic. The blanket was tossed over their heads and into their bed.

Nicolo sank into Yusuf’s embrace, trusting Yusuf would not let him fall as he was walked backwards to their bed. He smoothed hands over the hair over the shape of Yusuf's chest. It never ceases to intrigue him how the dark hairs sprung up against his fingers, how thick and soft they grew in the shallow valley of his muscles, how Yusuf's nipples flushed and hardened yet felt smooth under his fingers.

The growing damp spot in the front of Yusuf’s trousers promised little sleep. And there was much to do before they return to the village. The barrels needed to be filled. Izem's footwork needed to be quicker. Some of the stalls were still reluctant to hide weapons within their spaces, not believing in the danger.

But Yusuf’s hands swept over his body, letting his warmth seep into Nicolo’s skin. His fingers kneaded the spaces between the knots of his spine, sending heat flooding in the bottom of his belly. 

If they were quick, maybe there would be—yes, Yusuf was right, they can make time. There is time for—

When Nicolo’s legs struck their pallet, he automatically sat down. And when he sat on the bed, he realized he was not because he was...sinking?

Nicolo yelped, flailed and sprang back up to his feet.

Yusuf startled, stumbling back when Nicolo collided against his chest.

“What?” Nicolo turned around, but there was not a hole in their bed as he expected, but a thick padding he recognized was what Yusuf worked on for weeks.

Yusuf shook against him. He tried to stifle his laughter, but it burst free the moment Nicolo tentatively reached behind him and gave the bed a poke.

“What...” Yusuf could barely speak around his mirth. “What did you think it was?”

“I thought there was a hole,” Nicolo said weakly.

Yusuf sputtered, failing miserably to repeat what Nicolo said. Now Nicolo was the one holding him up.

“I felt myself falling,” Nicolo grumbled. He eyed Yusuf and added, “I thought you broke the bed again.”

Sure enough, Yusuf’s chuckles dried up. He glowered at Nicolo.

“I did not break the bed.”

“The hole was nearly the size of my fist,” Nicolo reminded Yusuf. “It took us two days to find a plank to fix the bed.”

Yusuf grumbled under his breath. His cheer returned. He turned Nicolo back to the bed.

“What do you think?” Yusuf murmured into Nicolo’s ear from behind. He wrapped his arms around Nicolo’s chest. He clasped their hands together.

Yusuf was taller than Nicolo. Not by much although there were times Yusuf felt like a mountain in comparison. In truth, it meant Yusuf fitted into Nicolo, their bodies tucked into each curve and angle. Nothing could get in-between them.

Like right now, Yusuf’s chest seemed to seal against Nicolo’s shoulders. His groin, his cock, pressed into the curve of Nicolo's lower back. Yusuf’s chin, his soft beard, the round tip of his nose slotted against Nicolo’s nape perfectly.

They were two halves of a whole, Nicolo thought as Yusuf tucked Nicolo against him. Yusuf started to sway and Nicolo moved with him.

“The bed?” Yusuf prodded, pulling Nicolo from his thoughts.

Nicolo studied the pallet and its thick padding.

“It is thicker,” Nicolo allowed, “But when I sat down, I sank. I was sure I would fall to the floor.”

“Ah, Nicolo,” Yusuf chuckled by Nicolo’s ear. “It is like sleeping on a cloud, rocked by waves of softness, swaying and floating as if you were flying.”

“It sounds alarming,” Nicolo confessed. “Did I tell you I can get seasick?” The first week on the ship, crammed with others, Nicolo was sick for days, too ill to protest when others took his bowl of gruel and discussed who would take what belongings after he was dead. He did not die. But others did from rancid meat or seasickness later in their journey to war.

“It will not make you sick,” Yusuf chuckled, but his jest was not cruel. He continued to sway them both on their feet, shifting left to right and back.

“It will spare you the discomfort of your lower back,” Yusuf murmured. His arms tightened around Nicolo. “When I ease into you.”

Nicolo blinked. “Oh. You do not wish me on my hands and knees then?”

Yusuf hugged Nicolo even tighter. “I wish to see you when we make love.”

Nicolo dropped his head back. At this height, it was awkward to rest his head on Yusuf’s shoulder, but this way, he could see Yusuf’s mouth and the curled lashes that graced Yusuf’s smiling eyes.

“I would like to see you as well,” Nicolo said. He liked how Yusuf called it, what they will do. He squeezed Yusuf’s hands around him. “I would like that very much.”

“I kept some of our catches.” Yusuf rubbed his nose into Nicolo’s hair. “And bartered the meat and some of the pelts in exchange.”

Nicolo mourned the loss of Yusuf’s heat along his back when he pulled free. He sat down by the table and watched as Yusuf pulled out what looked like a long roll wrapped in burlap from under their pallet. Yusuf sat down on their bed.

“Exchange for what? I presume this is not a new sword?” Nicolo said as Yusuf cut off the strings that bound the roll together.

“I do not need a new sword,” Yusuf scoffed. “I got something I thought you and I need.”

Nicolo’s eyebrow rose when Yusuf let the roll unfurl across the bed. The sheen of fur rippled out in a long dark blanket that covered most of the pallet.

“There was not enough pelts but I had the softest ones stitched together.” Yusuf smoothed a palm over the combined furs. Light caught under Yusuf’s hand. The furs gleamed.

Yusuf captured Nicolo's hand and tugged him closer.

Nicolo gingerly sat on the edge of their bed. He could see Yusuf's amusement when Nicolo pressed down a palm into the padding, jerking his hand back when it sank.

The furs felt like water slipping between Nicolo's fingers. He tried to identify the creatures who gave them these furs, but he could not. Yusuf remembered each one though. He will ask Yusuf later. 

"It feels soft," Nicolo admitted. "I do not think I have felt anything like this." He dimly remembered one of the priests that once visited the monastery. He had unpleasant eyes and smiled too broadly at some of the children. He owned a cloak with a fur collar that he invited the children to sit on his lap and touch. Nicolo did not. It was white, but it did not glint or look like it felt gentle as the one that lay between him and Yusuf.

“I would have you on top of folds of the finest silk, slick with the sweetest oils if I could,” Yusuf rasped. His eyes appeared almost as dark as night as he stared at Nicolo.

“I would have you resting in a magnificent room, in a magnificent palace, belly full of the finest foods before I open you up slow and careful, coax your body to accept me.”

Yusuf grimaced sadly at the bed. He patted the pelts.

“But at best, I hope warm food and a bed gentle on your back and soft against your skin would suffice.”

Nicolo’s throat worked. “Yusuf, I...” He stared at the fur. He considered Yusuf’s fingers currently stroking the pelts. He warmed, thinking of later and those same fingers stroking him inside deep, intimate places.

“I was your first,” Yusuf said, “And while I have had before you, these moments with you are the most precious to me. I want to join you in heart and in flesh and I want to show you...to promise you...”

Yusuf caressed the fur, but his eyes were on Nicolo.

“...that you will be my last, Nicolo di Genova,” Yusuf croaked. “There will be no other. There can be no other for me for I would not want anyone else. As I have you, you will have me forever.”

Nicolo smiled, tried, but his face felt strange. Like it was not sure if it wanted to twist into joy or crumble into weeping. He closed his eyes. There was too much in him to think straight.

“Nicolo?” Yusuf was now crouched by Nicolo’s side. He gazed up, warm brown eyes and gentle mouth.

Yusuf felt like he was as big as a mountain again. Nicolo struggled for words, something that would match the enormity of Yusuf’s generosity.

“The...the same,” Nicolo choked out. Inside, he was appalled. The same? It was all the words he could think of in return?

Nicolo roughly shook his head.

“I am an idiot. I am sorry. The same? I should have the words you deserve and all I can thin— _the same_?”

“You and I,” Yusuf said. He rose to his feet and stepped in closer. His hip brushed over Nicolo’s shoulder.

“Remember? There is no need for anything else.”

“You and I,” Nicolo whispered. He dropped his head against Yusuf’s stomach. He sighed. Yusuf slipped a hand over the back of his head.

“I do not need silk,” Nicolo mumbled into Yusuf’s stomach, “I do not need the softest bed. I do not need the finest foods. The finest thing I could ever want is you.”

Nicolo tipped his head up. His eyes felt gritty. Yusuf blurred above him like an unattainable vision.

“And somehow I have you,” Nicolo said, “As you have me. You will be my first. You will also be my last, for I do not need another. You and I.”

“And you said you did not have the words,” Yusuf said thickly. He ran fingers down Nicolo’s hair.

“Tonight,” Yusuf said. His fingers gathered Nicolo’s hair and squeezed the strands curled in his grasp.

“Tonight, let us lay on this bed and make our promises of forever to each other. Hm? What do you say, my heart?”

“You and I,” Nicolo murmured.

Yusuf kissed the top of Nicolo’s head.


	39. (Yusuf) - Somewhere outside of Alexandria, 12th century

“Wait here.”

Yusuf’s hands stilled on the reins. He looked over his shoulder at Nicolo, who lingered in front of the baker's house.

“Did we forget something?” Yusuf eyed the baskets on either side of the horse’s harness. The bread and cheese still filled the air with their warm scents. And he remembered slipping the packages of dates and dried meats in the other basket along with the little package Izem offered to get for him while Yusuf patrolled the village with Nicolo.

Nicolo looked discomforted, his hand on his sword hilt, his feet apart. He appeared prepared to run, to where, Yusuf did not know. He only hoped it was a place Yusuf was permitted to follow.

“I have something with the metal smith,” Nicolo explained. He fidgeted. “But I forgot as we were moving the barrels to set by the mill’s part of the stream.”

It was Nicolo’s idea to fortify the mill. It stood between the shores and the land as the outermost boundary. The structure was large enough to hide the elderly and women if they were under siege. They could escape the village by following the stream up to their dwelling and beyond.

The villagers grumbled, but many begrudgingly helped Yusuf and Nicolo fill the barrels with sand and roll them to create a wall that ran along the mill and part of the stream. 

If only there were more barrels. Yusuf preferred they made the wall two rows thick and stacked above their heads. But it was all they have until the fishermen return from Alexandria’s ships with more.

“The metal smith was across the mill,” Yusuf mused out loud. He eyed Nicolo. “If you have business with the smith, you could have left. We were fine. You could have rejoined us later.”

Nicolo’s thumb ran along his lower lip.

“Yes, that is true,” Nicolo mumbled. He gave Yusuf a sheepish look through his lashes.

Yusuf bit back his smile. He folded his arms in front of him.

“Perhaps I should go with you,” Yusuf decided. He snickered at the panic Nicolo could not hide completely.

“Or not.” Yusuf thought of his package secreted under the meats and sack of dates. He pretended to sigh. 

“Very well, I will wait rather impatiently by our horse, the sun descending behind us.”

“I will be quick.” Nicolo glanced up at the sky as well. He blinked when he discovered Yusuf now stood toe to toe with him.

Yusuf checked their surroundings. At this hour, the villagers gathered in the market to haggle with each other for the remaining wares.

“A reminder,” Yusuf murmured, “On why you should hasten your feet.”

Nicolo rolled his eyes, but his ears pinked. “Yes, I remember—“

Behind the melon cart, under the shadow of their horse, Yusuf crushed his lips over Nicolo’s. Yusuf swallowed Nicolo's surprised squeak that quickly turned into a moan when he deepened the kiss. 

Yusuf's hands roamed, quickly, before someone walked by, kneading and gripping Nicolo’s buttocks, ran his thumbs over the ridges of Nicolo’s spine and shoved a leg between Nicolo’s, sighing as he pressed forward, inviting Nicolo to—

Yusuf felt the teeth snapping towards his ass just as Nicolo’s eyes widened at whatever he saw past Yusuf’s shoulder.

“You crazy beast!” Yusuf sputtered. He ran behind Nicolo, scowling at the horse over Nicolo’s head.

Nicolo chuckled as he stepped away from Yusuf. He brushed back his hair, patted his clothes and exhaled. The flush on his cheeks and neck remained.

“The longer you delay me, it will be too dark to walk home and we would have to trouble Izem and his mother for her floor once again—“ Nicolo scoffed as Yusuf nudged him towards the metal smith’s hut.

“Hasten,” Yusuf quipped, “if only to spare the horse the horrible fate I have in mind for it if I was made to wait too long.”

Nicolo shook his head, a small private smile on his lips as he walked away.

Yusuf watched until he could watch no more. His eyes drifted back to the horse that stood far too close for Yusuf’s liking.

Yusuf glared at the beast. The beast stared back, unmoved. Then, its lips pulled back. It bared its teeth and chomped the air between them.

Yusuf bared his own teeth and snapped back.

Izem and the others made him feel old.

Only fair, Yusuf supposed. While he looked a man a scant past thirty, his years stretched beyond that. He was in his eighties now, already older than his father might have been.

A dull pang in Yusuf's chest reminded Yusuf he was not the only one who outlived his peers. And as he watched Izem and his two friends marched past in their own patrol, Yusuf wondered if Nicolo, too, felt the years. Izem, despite his jagged experiences at sea, was still young by mortal or immortal standards. Young enough, Izem shook off his fascination with Nicolo with little regret. Now, he appeared to hold many ideas on the village's future, instead. Ah, youth.

But Yusuf and Nicolo has seen villages rise and fall, whether by disease, violence or simply time. He wondered if Izem would feel the same ten years from now? Or twenty?

"Ah, _hobi_ ," Yusuf muttered under his breath. "My thoughts always go too dark with you not near. Hasten back, my heart."

Next to him, the horse snorted.

Yusuf rolled his eyes.

"And what comment do you have, beast? Or are you contemplating your next moment to attack?"

The horse stamped a foot and kicked its hind legs.

"Aye, aye. Do not spill the baskets, you wretched creature." Yusuf grumbled as he removed the baskets from the harness. "I have many plans for these. Especially these dates. They are his favorite." Yusuf peered into the bin to be certain they fared well. "They will sweeten his lips and—"

Yusuf growled as the horse's hind foot nearly connected with something sensitive.

"This is why I have not named you," Yusuf sputtered. He veered away from the horse's reach. "I am torn from the many ill-tempered names that would suit you."

Yusuf set the baskets by the side of the baker's house. 

"My old horse was far more better tempered than you," Yusuf grumbled when he returned. "And it outraced any desert horse! Would have certainly best you and your short stumpy legs." He kept an eye on the path Nicolo would return on. "Barb horse. Magnificent warrior. Fought alongside with me outside the walls of Antio—"

Yusuf abruptly cleared his throat. His black horse perished underneath him when a staff cut through its belly. He fell but his poor horse valiantly tried to rise until Nicolo stilled it with a swift blow of his sword. 

At the time, Yusuf did not realize it was out of mercy. Grief and rage sent him forth, his sword high to clash with Nicolo's. And the battle shrank to the two of them for days.

The horse whinnied. It turned its narrow head towards the house. 

"Ah ha, you wanted to eat what was in the basket, did you?" 

Yusuf shook a finger at the horse. To his surprise, though, the horse did not try to bite it. He frowned at the horse. The horse stamped a hoof, then another. It snorted, blowing wind across Yusuf's curls. 

Yusuf cautiously patted its bay coat.

The horse's black mane flicked out like a whip.

Yusuf frowned. No matter what horse, they always seemed more attuned.

"What is it mangy creature?" Yusuf muttered. He patted the horse's shoulder and felt it twitch under his palm again. He glanced up at its large eyes. He stilled.

"You want a bite? Yea?" Yusuf waved his left hand by the horse's muzzle. His right hand slowly reached behind him for his scimitar. "Not another sandstorm, I pray? I have many plans with Nicolo and I do not want to include a sandstorm. The places sand gets into are infuriating."

Reflected off the horse's eyes, Yusuf saw him: a man whose headdress and mask covered everything except his eyes. He crept out from around the other side of the house. He held a sword, as long as Yusuf's scimitar, as straight as Nicolo's longsword.

The horse nickered. It bumped its nose into Yusuf's shoulder.

"Eh? Eh?" Yusuf said loudly as he continued to watch the coward sneak up behind Yusuf. "That food is not for you! Have they not fed you enough chaff for four horses? I should hitch you to a cart after all, before your laziness makes you cumbersome and even more—"

The horse shrieked, rearing up on its hind legs. 

Yusuf swore. The man was not close enough yet. He spun around to face the coward. Behind him, the horse screamed once more and another man shouted but abruptly silenced with sharp hooves and a squishy thump.

Yusuf's would-be attacker started at the sound. It was enough. Yusuf charged at the man before him, his scimitar lashing out. Straight like a lance as he has seen Nicolo do, thrusting into the man before he has a chance to lift his own sword.

The man's hood muffled his dying cries, but Yusuf stood over him, panting as he watched the life die before he dared turn around.

Another man in similar dress laid by the horse's feet. Most of him, that is. The head was a smear the horse was currently trying to wipe off its hooves in the dirt.

He must have went around the horse, Yusuf realized. They were to attack him from both sides.

The horse snorted in disgust as it continued to scrape its bloodied hooves into the dirt. It looked over at Yusuf. Its ears wiggled.

Yusuf bristled. "I would have dealt with him."

The horse exhaled in a noisy and rather rude sound. 

Yusuf frowned as he cleaned his blade on the other's attire. Were they scouts? Surely they did not think they could ransack the village with two?

The horse whined loud.

From afar, shouting rose.

Yusuf's eyes widened. They were coming by sea, by the mill, by the metal smith—

"No," Yusuf breathed. He tightened his grip on his scimitar, spun towards the direction of the shouting. 

"Stay here," Yusuf barked, not caring if the horse truly understood or not. "If these men take you, they would work your miserable hide to the bon—"

The horse shrieked again, but this time its warning came too late. Yusuf tensed, expecting to see another coward's approach.

And felt the arrow punch through his chest and out his back.

As Yusuf fell forward, he heard the horse scream. He heard the village scream. What he did not hear was—

"Nicolo," Yusuf groaned as blood bubbled up to his lips.

Yusuf fell face forward into the dirt as the world around him fades.


	40. (Nicolo) - Somewhere outside of Alexandria, 12th century

He wished his hand would not shake so much.

Nicolo took a deep breath and steadied his hand. He finished the final stroke. Done, he stepped back and studied what he has done with a critical eye. Hm, maybe he should add—

Too soon, the metal smith took it away and what little Nicolo had left to offer.

“Wait...” Nicolo’s shoulders slumped when he realized he spoke in Arabic instead of Greek. Too late, the stout metal smith was finishing behind a veil of steam, his hammer and tongs busy at work. He glanced up at Nicolo’s voice.

Nicolo held up his hands and shook his head. Nothing could be done about it now. He wished he dared slip away before to see the metal smith. It would have spared him delay as he would have spotted the error sooner.

Outside, the daylight was dimming and the shadows grew darker. 

Nicolo gestured to the metal smith’s boy, a child of nine who was also the apprentice, that he would wait outside. It would only take a few more minutes, but Nicolo worried Yusuf would come. That would ruin everything.

The mill cast a long shadow that reached the smith’s house and his dwelling behind it. Nicolo suppressed the sigh that wanted to break free when his eyes wandered towards the barrels that shielded half the mill from sight.

Nicolo knew from the small furrow between Yusuf’s brow that the other did not think the barrier was enough. It was not. But at least it gave others a chance however small. Even if only one survived, the wall was worth it.

The village was quieting as daylight seeped slowly into night. Nicolo glanced to his right, towards the shores and marveled at the colors that always came before the moon. The sun was a golden disc, blinding as it sank. The few fisherman still out in the water were returning. Their little boats rocked up and down as the waves brought them closer to shore.

Nicolo narrowed his eyes.

Where were their nets?

Nicolo’s eyes flicked to the small round boats on the shores, their pointy bottoms dug deep into the rocky sand. Five, there were five boats. It has always been five.

There are three more boats in the water.

Nicolo whipped around and rushed into the smith’s house. The little boy looked up from where he sat by the bellows. His eyes widened and his little feet scampered towards his father at Nicolo’s curt nod.

Without waiting to see if the smith understood, Nicolo grabbed the first villager who meandered by. It was the spice vendor. He squinted through his bushy gray eyebrows at Nicolo.

“They are here,” Nicolo said in as clear Greek as he could. Yusuf and him repeated the needed words every night after their meal.

Nicolo began to repeat it in lingua franca, but his first attempt was enough. The normally stooped seller straightened up as best he could and started shouting as he stumbled towards the market.

The sun was more than halfway down the sky, no longer blazing bright, but the damage has been done. Hedi’s men used the blinding light to cloak their approach, choosing the time when most villagers were clustered together in the market.

Word has spread and one shout became two. Then three.

Nicolo spared a glance towards the baker’s house. He thought of Yusuf. He knew Yusuf heard the shouting and would be here.

Shifa, the weaver’s daughter, stumbled in front of Nicolo.

“Go,” Nicolo instructed as he helped her to her feet. “To the mill with the others.”

“My mother.” Shifa was close to tears. “She was behind me.”

“Where?”

“The loom, in our stall—“

“Take her,” Nicolo instructed as a villager hesitated by them. To Shifa, “Go. I will find her.”

Nicolo did not wait for a reply. He nudged another villager towards the mill and ran for the market.

The boats have reached the shore, but there were three men already tearing through the stalls with their blades.

Nicolo spotted Izem and his friends pushing who they could towards the safety of the mill. Panic made people forgetful, places they have known all their lives suddenly a mystery. Those who are able had pulled the bars and axes hidden in their stalls to fight back. The three bandits grabbed what they could from the stalls, only to have the villagers fight for them back.

But there were more coming.

Nicolo shouted in Arabic, confusing the bandits a brief moment.

It was enough. It had to be.

Pushing past escaping villagers, Nicolo swung his sword towards the first man who recovered from his confusion.

Their swords have a shorter reach, but met Nicolo’s blade resolute and steady. Arming swords, Nicolo realized as he slashed across with his longsword before blades could point towards him. Two fell.

Behind Nicolo, six more arrived.

“...colo!” Izem sounded worried. There was so much shouting. Izem was only with one friend now. The other hung between them. He looked dead.

“Go!” Nicolo ordered in Arabic again. “To the mill! Be ready!”

The fish stall to Nicolo's right shattered as two men in hooded cloaks bashed through, using their heavy steel like battering rams. 

The swords' pommels varied. Nicolo spotted two in straight cruciform. The bandits carried blades from knights, from invaders, from lands Nicolo did not know. 

A new anger joined the one that filled his chest. These men were using weapons stolen from the dead. 

Nicolo ducked under an inexpert swing, but a blade tip caught the small of his back from behind. He stumbled. He swung clumsily in volley. Another fell, but the man got back up snarling.

Around Nicolo, the villagers who are able swung their dull axes at the bandits. Fishermen caught bandits with tossed nets and the others attacked them as they floundered on the ground.

There was still more coming, though. From the side where the land lay.

Yusuf. Yusuf would have stopped them.

Someone shouted and Nicolo threw himself to the ground just as an arrow spiked the stall just above his heart.

There was an enemy from afar.

Another arrow flew and one of the villagers fell. Nu'm's brother. His ax dropped to the red tinged mud. The man will not get up again. Nu'm is the only one left in their family.

Nicolo gritted his teeth. He gestured to the others to leave him. They would not. Another picked up the ax and charged.

Another arrow.

Nicolo knocked it aside before it struck Malik, the goat herder. He grunted when a hot line went across his left shoulder down to the back of his right thigh.

It burned as it healed. The blood on Nicolo's clothes, the thicker tunic Yusuf insisted Nicolo wears covered the slash and the exposed jut of his hip bone. He was healing. But it hurt. And it slowed him down. His next swing missed.

A hand grabbed Nicolo by the elbow when he staggered.

“I am fine,” Nicolo insisted. He could not hear himself. He was unsure if he spoke Greek or Arabic any more. “Follow Izem! Go!”

Nicolo was not sure if whoever tried to help him understood. He lurched forward, colliding into two men stooped over a woman who screamed and screamed.

She stopped screaming by the time Nicolo killed the two on top of her.

There was no time to see who it was. There was no time to despair his failures. Nicolo lost count of how many remained standing. He heard Izem shouting. Three of the intruders spotted where the others have fled. The hut behind the metal smith’s was in flames. A child was crying.

Smoke gathered. A haze rose around Nicolo and the enemy. Night was falling but darkness was kept away by patches of fire.

The bandits were starting to burn the village. They have taken Jerusa—

Nicolo choked around the bitter memories that would never go away. He heard shouting, but did not realize it was himself until he saw the bandits in front of him starting. He plunged his sword like a staff, skewered two, twisting the blade with a wrench that split open the still healing slash down his own back.

There were less men around him. Nicolo did not dare fathom why; if it bore good news or ill. He could not hear Izem as well. He prayed the reason was ill.

All Nicolo could think now about was to fight and not stop. He fought, a scream stuck in his throat, painfully aware there should be someone there besides him. But soon. It will be soon. Until then, he can. Not. Stop. Fighting.

Nicolo stood, hissing as another blade caught him unaware, this time at the back of his neck, catching the braid Yusuf tied this morning. His hair, uneven, sticky with blood, clung around his throat and jaw. 

An arrow hissed and Nicolo grabbed a bandit closest to him and guided the man in front of him to interrupt the arrow's path. Nicolo muttered a prayer, reluctant thanks to the arrowhead that popped out the back of the bandit's skull. He grunted as another arrow sailed across, into his right shoulder blade, snapping off when Nicolo tackled another so Zayd could break free.

It hurt to move his right arm. Nicolo's shoulders convulse with every swing. When the arrow pushed out unnoticed by others, his entire right side was aflame. It was harder to draw a breath. 

But the pain did not matter. It can not. 

One more fell by Nicolo's sword. Another scrambled away. More hooded men emerged from both directions. Some fell easily. Many did not.

A hand pulled Nicolo up when he could not rise from the man he just bested. Nicolo huffed, unable to say thanks. He could only nod and the other ran to help another. Nicolo hopes he will survive. He considered the bandits busy ripping shelters to find spoils.

"Your fight is with me!" Nicolo shouted in his broken Greek, in as loud of a voice his raw throat could spare. "Do not think you can take anything past me!"

Seven stopped and eyed Nicolo. Seven turned away from the broken houses. Seven turned away from the fleeing villagers. 

Seven. Nicolo held his longsword so tight, it shook like an untamed horse. 

"Seven is it?" Nicolo rasped to himself. "Then seven it shall be."

He needed to keep fighting. He needed to push them back. He needed to wait. Yusuf was coming. 

Nicolo raised his sword, felt the last of his wound close over his hip and charged.


	41. (Yusuf) - Somewhere outside of Alexandria, 12th century

_The city was burning._

_Women wept. Children cried. Men died. The sand ran red. The fires burned hot. And sand and stone and wood could not hold them back._

_The walls did not hold. They did not—_

Yusuf gasped, his body jerking. He tasted sand on his lips. He tasted blood on his tongue. 

The arrow in him burned, burrowing and grinding with each weakening thump of his heart. He reached up and snapped off the half protruding the front of his chest. He felt the blood in his lungs receding, the froth no longer filling his throat.

It was dark. Yet there were flares of light.

Fire. 

The village. The village was burn—

Nicolo.

Yusuf clenched his teeth. His fists dug into mud and he tried to push himself up. He could not. The front half of the arrow was still trapped in his back, between his shoulders, scraping noisily against his spine. It numbed him from the waist down. His left arm lost most its strength.

But the village was burning. And Nicolo was in the village.

“ _H-hobi_ ,” Yusuf rasped. Why will his knees not work?

Something clamped over the back of Yusuf’s tunic, above the arrow. Without warning, Yusuf was yanked up to his feet. The arrowhead shifted, sliding out a fraction and what was numb suddenly ignited.

A scream cut off in Yusuf’s throat as he slammed into...his horse?

The horse blew out sharply into Yusuf's face.

Yusuf grimaced as the remaining arrow half in his back wiggled, trying to push through. He gasped wetly, his knees refusing to lock.

The horse nickered. It sidestepped closer to Yusuf.

Yusuf stared blankly at the five bodies around them on the ground. Four had no heads. He rested his forehead on the long neck. He grunted as the arrow at last pushed through and fell to the dirt. But he still can not feel his legs.

The horse snorted. It stamped a blood splattered hoof. 

Yusuf blearily stared at the bright round eyes and the narrow muzzle.

“You have your uses,” Yusuf croaked. He clung to its mane with his right hand. His left hand barely held on to his scimitar. But it did not matter.

“Take me to Nicolo,” Yusuf rasped. His reflection gazed back at him. “Take me to Nicolo.”

The horse’s head lowered, nearly to the ground, its long body quivering under the strain as Yusuf shakily climbed up.

Yusuf slumped forward over the horse’s neck, wheezing. He almost fell over to the other side. He gripped the mane instead of the reins with his right hand, his scimitar clutched in his left with a grip Yusuf worried he will not be able to loosen.

The horse started, stopped and neighed. It turned to stare unblinking at Yusuf.

“Go,” Yusuf groaned. He could gradually feel his feet. He wiggled his toes in his boots. “Before I trade you for that goat over there."

The horse snorted once, delicately stepped over the bodies and headed for where the fires burned the brightest.

The market was on fire.

Yusuf spotted Izem guarding the path to the mill. A hut burned behind him. The boy stood alone, holding a bloodied sword Yusuf did not give him.

“By the weaver!” Izem shouted the moment he spotted Yusuf on his horse. He waved Yusuf off.

“I’m fine!” Izem declared and proved it by executing the move Yusuf taught him and knocked a bandit completely off his feet. Others spilled out from hiding places behind Izem. They pounced the moment the man fell with sticks and shouts.

Yusuf gave Izem one last look, blinking in shock before he clicked his tongue and the horse turned away.

There was no more weaver’s stall. Its blackened wooden frame stood as the only survivor of the market. There were villagers fighting around the market. There were villagers battling bandits among the burning homes past the market. There were ones who were not fighting any more.

And there was Nicolo, his sword held to his eyes, steady in his double grip, his bloodied form surrounded by five men in an arc in from of him, his back to a broken cart smoldering to ask. 

The men all stayed back, eyes and feet shifting from left to right. They did not approach. 

Two men lay by Nicolo’s feet. One’s legs lay by his comrades. The other's...Yusuf could not tell where they were.

Yusuf shouted, or tried but the horse was louder and rudely drowned him out with a high-pitched squeal. Nicolo did not turn to look. But he adjusted the grip on his sword, drawn back so his sword was a gleaming sharp line that tracked his narrowed eyes back to the bandits.

“Go find Izem.” It was agony, but Yusuf slid off the horse. He clung to the horse until his boots at last sensed the ground beneath him. He staggered to Nicolo’s side. The stench of blood on Nicolo made him nearly gag. But he held up his scimitar in front of him.

Nicolo’s eyes flicked to Yusuf and back front. His sword lifted slightly higher.

“You are late,” Nicolo said in Arabic.

Yusuf barked a laugh, a gurgling and alarming one if he was to judge the way Nicolo’s eyes flew back to him.

“Not fair,” Yusuf rasped in Arabic. “I was about to say the same to you.” His legs regained footing after his horse prodded his lower back from behind.

“Stupid beast,” Yusuf muttered. “I told you to go.” He grunted when the horse’s nose smacked him on his ass when he staggered back. 

“Are you helping me or them? Do you wish to be a workhorse again? Go!”

The bandits glanced at each other nervously. Ah, they do not speak Arabic. Very well.

"Is that your blood, dear friend?" Yusuf greeted Nicolo in very loud Greek.

Nicolo smiled thinly. 

"Not all of this blood is mine," Nicolo replied in Greek as well. "Are the blood on your clothes yours?"

Yusuf shrugged. He suppressed the grimace. "Some. Most from their friends, I am afraid. To be fair, the beast behind me has some of their blood as well." To the bandits, Yusuf said, "I hope you were not expecting more men. They have been detained."

The horse snorted.

One of the bandits muttered under his breath. Another lifted his blade menacingly.

“Can you fight?” Nicolo said under his breath. He returned to Arabic

“Bah.” Yusuf gestured at the remaining men. They edged back, their shoulders tensing as he lazily pointed at them with his blade.

“Fight them? If you wish.” Yusuf bit back the grimace as he shrugged. A bone noisily popped back in place and at last, Yusuf’s legs obeyed him once again. "I could sit back and let you fight them."

"I was trying to be polite," Nicolo said, still in Arabic, "I saved some for you."

"Ah." It hurt less to laugh now. Yusuf's scimitar wobbled as he pointed to the men. He was amused to see the bandits twitch. 

"How kind. Which ones have you left me?"

Nicolo smirked. A trail of blood seeped out of a corner of his mouth. "The ugly one."

"Eh? Which one?" Yusuf raised an eyebrow at the bandits. He received a scowl in return. 

"They are all ugly when I am standing next to you. And you only saved me one? Must you be so greedy?"

Nicolo scoffed. His eyes lingered on Yusuf a moment longer before turning back to their shared enemy.

“Can you fight?” Nicolo asked, staying in Arabic. He echoed that day on Dirar's ship, his eyes this time an echo of many years before.

“If you still want to with me,” Yusuf murmured and he saw Nicolo made the connection, his eyes widening even as his lips curled subtly in a smile he only gave Yusuf.

“Always,” Nicolo replied.

Yusuf turned back towards the bandits.

Without saying a word, Yusuf and Nicolo stepped forward, together, in stride and charged.

His sword was an extension to himself.

Nicolo was the shield to his blade. As he is to Nicolo.

It was like striking swords again at twilight, in the back of their home. Yusuf moved left as Nicolo moved right. When Nicolo swung the first blow, Yusuf then surged forward to mete the second. 

Their battle drew the ire of others, who found themselves at a stand off against villagers armed with iron bars, dull axes and barbed nets. Yusuf and Nicolo fell three, five more joined in. 

Suddenly the ashes of the market became a battlefield as villagers swarmed the grounds. Carts rammed into bandits. Axes found the skulls of greedy men. As Yusuf and Nicolo fought, back to back, sword to sword, they found themselves surrounded by villagers, men and women alike, dozens of fists striking one. Sticks hammering another like a lump of dough.

The more Yusuf fought, the more his blood sang. He was not a violent man, not by choice, but oh, how his limbs moved without thought as his scimitar cut his enemy down. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Izem, a boy but now a man, rushing forth without hesitation. The sword was not his, but it moved with the young man like they were together since birth.

And Nicolo, Nicolo was always at the edge of his awareness, silent but loud in his movements as he turned into one swing to the next.

"Behind you," Nicolo called and Yusuf ducked. He felt Nicolo's dagger sail over him, striking the coward who would try to attack him from behind. 

Yusuf's eyes stayed on Nicolo's as he reached behind, yanked the dagger out of the bandit's throat to throw it into the heart of the bandit charging towards Nicolo.

"Here is your blade back," Yusuf shouted as he punched one and shoved him forward.

"You missed!" Nicolo returned as his longsword skewered through the attacker.

"On purpose!" Yusuf shot back as he darted by Nicolo. His scimitar cut the throat fast enough blood did not spill.

"Or by accident!" Nicolo scoffed. He jumped back from the bandit gurgling by his feet.

Hedi's men were bloodthirsty and greedy, but they were also cowards. When they realized the village was not as easy of a prize to snatch, they tried to retreat. Some made it. Some did not.

The moon was up high when the roar of battle was silenced. The remaining villagers stood about in a daze. Fires still burned.

"Find buckets," Yusuf told one wearily. The man's name escaped him. "Use the sea to put the flames out."

"Search the dead," Nicolo told another. "Check carefully. One may still breathe."

"Use the mill for the wounded." Izem's voice rang out. "If there are attackers who still live, put them in the storage shed for now.

"That is a good plan, Izem." Nicolo shot Yusuf an amused look. 

Yusuf shrugged, but he could do nothing more than nod as Izem glanced their way.

Nicolo stared blankly after Izem when Yusuf shuffled next to him.

" _Hobi,_ " Yusuf murmured. He plucked a clean part of Nicolo's sleeve.

"Did you die?" Nicolo whispered. He turned to consider Yusuf, his eyes clouding when Yusuf nodded wearily.

"I promised to be there when you open your eyes." Nicolo exhaled. He slipped his longsword into his scabbard, his eyes downcast. "I am sorry."

"And I am sorry I was late," Yusuf replied. He turned his grip, cupping Nicolo's elbow. "We saved many lives, my heart." Yusuf shook his head sadly. He gazed around them. The villagers were quiet, in respect of their dead, or because of exhaustion. Perhaps both. They were calling out names as they checked bodies. There was someone weeping, but Yusuf could not see where.

Fires were extinguished one by one and the night regained dominance. The moon above their heads soon became the only light shining down on the ruins of the village market.

Yusuf spotted his horse, standing lost by a broken cart, the dead around its hooves. Its black tail was limp with mud and blood. The horse could be asleep if it were not the head moving, tracking the villagers moving around them. It whinnied as a body was lifted off the ground in front of it. It was the vendor who sold fruit. He often slipped Yusuf's horse the fruit he could not sell at the end of the day.

"How many have we lost tonight?" Yusuf murmured sadly. 

"Do not think that," Nicolo said. "Think of how many were saved today."

Nicolo slipped his hand into Yusuf's left hand. There was a finger missing a nail in Nicolo's hand, but it was growing back as Nicolo stroked the curve of Yusuf's palm.

"We did good here." Nicolo sounded hesitant, though.

Yusuf curled his hand around Nicolo's, capturing it.

"Yes," Yusuf said. He gave Nicolo's fingers a brief squeeze. "We did, Nicolo."

Yusuf heaved a sigh. "However, I am weary. Can we go home soon? If not, I shall sleep where I stand. Do not wake me until tomorrow."

"But they might need our help..." His dear Nicolo hedged despite how heavy his voice sounded. 

"You have done so much, Nicolo," Izem said as he approached. He stood disheveled and bloodied in front of them. He smiled broadly at Nicolo. 

Yusuf frowned. He did not realize Izem was nearly as tall as Nicolo. And when did the boy started calling Nicolo by his given name?

"Nicolo," Yusuf groaned loudly to catch Nicolo's attention. "I am grievously filthy. Let us go home. I need a bath."

"It is late," Nicolo hesitated. "And we should see if they need help. There is much to do."

"There is much to do," Izem agreed, "But you have done so much and should rest. I would be honored to offer you a place to sleep for the night."

"How kind," Yusuf could not help reply, his voice thinning, "to offer Nicolo _and I_ a bed for the night."

Nicolo coughed. "Yes. Very kind." His fingers slipped out of Yusuf's grip. He shot Yusuf a look. Oh no. That was not a good look. "Let us help what we can and we will return to our own beds for rest. We do not mind."

Nicolo shot Yusuf another look.

"Do you agree, Yusuf?"

Yusuf straightened, his throat clearing.

"Of course. We would be most happy to help." 

Inside, Yusuf sighed.


	42. (Nicolo) - Somewhere outside of Alexandria, 12th century

“Ingrate.”

Nicolo lifted his heavy head.

Yusuf stood with his hands on his hips. Despite his wet attire—Nicolo wondered why it stirred something in him—Yusuf glared at the object of his ire.

With a snort, the horse glowered back at Yusuf.

“This is your own fault,” Yusuf said, gesturing at the horse with the knot of cloth strips he planned to wrap around the pumice applied on the wound.

They found a sword slash that ran shallowly around the horse’s thigh just below its flank. Yusuf first thought the horse was limping to garner Nicolo’s sympathy because Nicolo argued they should not both ride the horse.

“I told you to leave but did you listen? Of course not, you never do and you see? This is what happens when you do not listen!”

The horse grunted. Then squealed, outraged, when Yusuf slapped more pumice on the wound.

Nicolo bathed while Yusuf fussed—“Fuss? I am not fussing over this beast, _hobi_ ”—and returned to find Yusuf had unexpectedly bathed as well: the horse had tipped the bucket of water over Yusuf's head while he applied the herbal pumice. He sat on the grass to watch Yusuf argue with their horse.

“...or you would prefer to trot uneven for the rest of your—no, do not think of—“

Nicolo blinked blearily when more water sprinkled on his face. When he looked up, Yusuf was done with the horse’s bandages and stalking away muttering he needed a bath. A trail of water followed Yusuf’s trek to the stream. He did not invite Nicolo and for once Nicolo was glad.

Listening to the tall grass whisper against Nicolo was lulling him to sleep. No, he wanted to stay awake because this was supposed to be...He flushed. It was supposed to be last—no, two nights ago, but there was so much to do.

The peace Nicolo felt eroded with the more dead they found. The village was reduced to a few structures. Their boats were made into shelters. The elderly and women slept inside the mill.

Nicolo rubbed his gritty eyes with a fist. 

Fires ebbed to reveal those who could not flee in time, those the bandits thought were as good as theirs to plunder. Age did not matter. Their sex did not matter.

The cruelty of man still saddens him and Yusuf.

A hen tottered over to Nicolo. Inquisitive eyes considered Nicolo’s blood stained boots.

“No,” Nicolo murmured. “Over there. See?”

Nicolo gently prodded the fluffy thing towards the bucket of feed inside the hens’ pen. The poor animals were not fed yesterday or the day before. Nicolo feared the worse when he remembered too late when he and Yusuf trudged home this morning. Yusuf checked while Nicolo gathered what they needed to make the pumice for their horse.

Nicolo smiled faintly as another hen hopped over. It pecked lightly into his palm, head tilting when it discovered his palm was empty.

The hens fared well to Nicolo’s relief. They chittered happily at Nicolo and Yusuf when they saw them. The rooster flapped up to them and squawked, most likely berating them for their neglect.

But the hens were fine and judging the eggs the hens buried under the grass, a few more birds will be joining them. The promise of new life, however small, was balm to their souls.

And yet...

Nicolo knuckled his left eye again.

He found the weaver, Shifa's mother, too late. Omar, one of the elder fisherman, had tucked her under his body. It was not enough to save her. Or him. Shifa wailed when Nicolo brought her mother back to her. She cried into Izem's shoulder. Then Shifa cried some more when she learned it was Omar who tried to help her mother.

Omar once greeted Nicolo with a scowl because of his accent, then later with extra fish whenever he heard Nicolo’s catch was poor. The man’s hair was as white as his sightless eyes. He could hold no sword and yet fought as fiercely as if one was in his hand.

Shifa thanked Nicolo for finding her mother. She thanked him and then went to find a death shroud.

Nicolo's eyes burned. His left one twitched as if trying to close, but no, he wanted to wait for Yusuf.

The last hen tiptoed over, hopping up to Nicolo's legs. It chirped, tottered around to his other side and flapped its wings where it stood.

It can not fly, but Nicolo caught it try several times to flutter around the horse's hooves. And it failed as many tries.

And here, it was still trying, wings fluttering, chirping despite he had forgotten about them for days as he helped the villagers buried the dead. The villagers thanked him and Yusuf, thanked them as they wiped their eyes dry and went to salvage wood to rebuild. The metal smith's son pressed the little bundle into his numb hands and his coin because they refused to take payment and...

"Nicolo, shhh..."

Nicolo started when Yusuf's arms wrapped around him, his lips brushing under Nicolo's eyes. He realized he held the hen in his lap and his tears were falling on top of its feathered head.

"I was..." Nicolo was not sure. Was this not good? The village was saved. He told Yusuf not to think about who they lost and yet here he was, weeping on top of the poor creature.

"Shoo," Yusuf murmured as he picked up the hen and send it on its way. "Fill your tiny belly before you drown in our tears. Away with you."

Nicolo caught the shimmer at Yusuf's reddened eyes. He murmured, distressed, and dropped his head onto Yusuf's shoulder.

Yusuf whispered something into Nicolo's hair. He laid back onto the grass, Nicolo slumped over him.

"I am the same," Yusuf said quietly, "I felt gladness the village was spared, but sorrow not all were there to see it." He cleared his throat.

"It was strange," Yusuf said roughly. He started to stroke Nicolo's hair as he stared up at the morning sky. "I was angry at our horse for not listening and my fury led my feet to the stream to bathe. But as I cleaned, I watched the blood of battle washed away and sorrow took over."

Yusuf sighed. 

"They rejoiced and grieved and shared it with us, yet I felt like I did not deserve it for death was not something that stalked me. What right do I have to celebrate our survival? They thanked us and it only made me want to weep." 

Yusuf kept echoing the words clogged up in Nicolo's heart. As Yusuf spoke what burdened Nicolo's heart, his eyes stayed dry. So Nicolo wept for both of them.

"But you were right, _hobi_ ," Yusuf went on. "I should not think of who was lost, but who was saved. I should think of who we have to spend our lives with however short theirs are to us. We did good, my heart. It does not feel like that right now, but you were right. We needed to help them. And we did. And it is good."

Nicolo pressed his damp eyes over Yusuf's tunic and breathed.

_She caught the arrow with her ax, laughing as the other scowled. She knocked back another arrow and grinned..._

Nicolo started. His eyes flew open. There was a moment he was confused why he no longer smell smoke.

The bed underneath him sank and his stomach lurched as he lowered.

Hands wrapped tighter around Nicolo's chest.

"You are not falling," Yusuf murmured against Nicolo's nape. He chuckled sleepily against Nicolo's skin. "There is no hole underneath us."

"Your bed," Nicolo grumbled. He fidgeted within Yusuf's hold. He vaguely remembered staggering, slumped against Yusuf towards their house. He remembered pulling his boots off, crowding Yusuf to the bed and...

Nicolo groaned.

"Did I fall asleep on you?"

"A little," Yusuf said. He sounded amused. Nicolo groaned once more. "You announced you were not tired and then started to kiss my beard rather enthusiastically and then fell asleep drooling on top of it. It was adorable, my heart, if not also rather disgusting."

Nicolo pressed his heated face into the padding and his face sank into its plush surface. He paused as the rest of Yusuf's words sank in. He lifted his head.

"I did not drool on you." 

Yusuf chuckled as he tugged Nicolo against him. 

"Fear not, _hobi_ , I was more charmed than I was revolted."

"I did not," Nicolo insisted.

"Mm hm," Yusuf hummed as he rolled Nicolo to face him. "Yes, you did not, as I did not break the bed."

"Do you not fear I will drown you in my drool?" Nicolo grumbled. He reluctantly faced Yusuf. 

Yusuf rumbled against Nicolo. He slipped a leg between Nicolo's.

"Hello, my heart," Yusuf said. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss on Nicolo's throat. "How are you feeling now?"

Nicolo hesitated, searching within.

"Not as tired," Nicolo admitted. 

Yusuf reached up and pushed back Nicolo's hair from his face.

"I am not surprised. We slept the rest of the day away."

Nicolo stared. "We...the entire day?"

Yusuf shrugged. "We must have needed it. Do not worry. I fed the hens. I changed that ungrateful beast's bandages. It is healing nicely. Miserable horse tried to bite me when I applied more pumice."

Nicolo blinked. "I do not feel like I slept a—are you sure?"

Yusuf leaned in, his eyes twinkling. 

"The sun is in the direction as before. The hens nearly attacked me when I came in with the feed. We should teach them to feed themselves."

Nicolo groaned. He dropped his head onto Yusuf's shoulder. "Then last night..."

Yusuf chuckled. "I doubt last night would have happened. I prefer we enjoy each other, not have you fall asleep on me. Such responses would wound my pride." 

Nicolo grimaced. "You had plans. And I..." He could feel his ears pinking.

Yusuf tapped one of Nicolo's ear. "My plans, our night, will happen."

"I expected it to happen last night," Nicolo grumbled. He grew somber. "But tears needed to be shed first to make room for other things." He regarded Yusuf. 

"Do _you_ feel better?"

Yusuf's mouth twisted. "Better and it will improve with time, I am sure." His leg slipped up higher between Nicolo's, rubbing the inside of Nicolo's thighs. Yusuf shifted closer to Nicolo. Their noses bumped.

"Although right now, I am feeling ravenous."

"For food?" Nicolo asked wryly as he felt Yusuf's cock press hot into the fold of his hip.

Yusuf's eyes shone bright. His hands slipped around, fingers catching the waistline of Nicolo's trousers.

"No." And with a sharp tug, Nicolo's sleep pants were down to his knees. 

Nicolo groaned as the hot slide of Yusuf's cock brushed against his. He found himself responding, his cock filling as he swept hands under Yusuf's shirt. 

There was a brief struggle, a catch of breath, an aborted giggle as they tried and realized they can not undress each other at the same time. Their tunics fell over the bed, their trousers behind Yusuf. 

Yusuf tugged the woven blanket away. He gazed at Nicolo with a wide-eyed look.

"What?" Nicolo's belly lurched at the look on Yusuf's eyes.

"Do you know how you looked out there?" Yusuf rasped. "Your sword high, you moved with it like it was part of you." He cupped Nicolo's jaw. "Each step so sure, each stroke so powerful, it was like the first time I met you, but this time we shared the same enemy."

"You danced," Nicolo said. He leaned into Yusuf's hand. He breathed out sharply as Yusuf's other hand reached down and traced the shape of his sex. "You...you and your sword danced through our enemy and—Yus..."

"Shh," Yusuf hushed. His cock bumped into Nicolo's, hot and thick, brushing sensitive skin. His thumb pressed along the edges of skin that covered Nicolo's cock and coaxed, fingertips teasing the thin skin as if undressing Nicolo's cock as well.

"Uh..." Nicolo pressed closer. He dropped his head onto Yusuf's collarbone. He gazed at the hollow their bodies created. He watched Yusuf's chest heave against his forehead. He watched Yusuf rein their lengths together.

Nicolo groaned again, rocking into Yusuf's grip, against his cock. It was dry, too dry and it stung grinding against Yusuf's cock and hand.

"I want to take you right now," Yusuf said roughly. He reached behind Nicolo for the small jar of oil on the table. He needed to stretch to reach, curving into Nicolo, his upper body within the reach of Nicolo's mouth.

Nicolo latched on to a nipple, felt Yusuf jerk against his lips. He tugged, tasted the pink nub as it hardened against his rough tongue.

"I want to fill you," Yusuf rasped as he rolled his hips, his cock aligning with Nicolo's. Yusuf's torso quivered as Nicolo moved to the other teat.

"I want to spill into yo—yes, my heart, oh, there, yes..."

Yusuf's hand returned around their cocks. It was now slick with oil and suddenly the pace grew frantic.

Nicolo pulled away from Yusuf's chest, a whine creaking out of his throat as Yusuf pumped their cocks together. He curled his hands around Yusuf's wrists, his body rocking to the pulls.

"There is so much I want to taste of you," Yusuf panted. He slipped a hand around and smoothed his fingers over Nicolo's taint in time of his jerks.

"I could have sat there and watch you, like a mythical god of war glowing with mercy yet burning with such strength."

Nicolo's mouth fell open and he gasped, keening as a finger slipped in. His body shaped around Yusuf's finger, first one, then two. He whimpered when there was no more.

"Yu...yusuf..."

"I want to bury myself into that well of power, that well of light and never come out."

Yusuf's fingers twisted, slipping in and out faster than the hand around them. Nicolo whimpered. His legs kicked a little as the third finger slipped in. The fullness robbed him of breath. All he could do was make soft catches of sound deep in his throat. He was ignited from all sides and he needed more.

"Yusuf..." Nicolo choked. "Please..." He huddled in closer, his hips snapping into Yusuf's hand, his body trembling to keep the fullness inside him.

Yusuf mouthed Nicolo's brow, his fingers turning, crooking, seeking...

Nicolo moaned as Yusuf's fingers brushed over that spot again and again, in a pace that turned into a blur. Light flashed behind his eyes over and over. 

The fourth finger inched in and oh, oh, yes, this. His legs twitched, desperate to spread wide but on his side, all he could do was fling one leg over Yusuf's flank to open himself for more.

"Uh," Nicolo moaned, "Uh, Yu—mor—oh, p-please..."

"Do you feel how your body lets me in?" Yusuf murmured. "Do you feel how I fit inside you? How much I fill you with my fingers? Four, you take four so beautifully, but oh, you would still be so tight around me. I weep at the thought." 

"I should take you now," Yusuf breathed and his eyes were as dark and charged as that night when they fought together. 

"Y-yes...Yu-Yusuf..."

"...right here and let you ride my cock instead of my hand."

Nicolo panted. He could not even form more words to beg. He rocked into Yusuf's hand, pulling the fingers in, sobbing when Yusuf slowly eased them half out.

It was a battle between them. Nicolo struggled to buck into Yusuf's hand to take them deeper, only for Yusuf to slip them out. His damp fingers lingered at his opening, enough to feel the stretch as they slipped back in. But never deep enough. Not enough.

"Please..." Nicolo breathed. Yusuf kissed his brow, his hand quickening around their cocks.

"But no," Yusuf mourned. "Not yet, not like this, not in haste." 

Yusuf turned his fingers, kneading Nicolo's insides with slow pets. He sped up his strokes around them as his movements inside Nicolo slowed into a torturous sway. 

"Tonight. I promise. Let me spoil you, taste you in every way, let me keep you on this bed and indulge each other on this day. Let me have you, my heart, in every possible way."

Nicolo came, spilling over Yusuf's hand, with a wordless wail. He lay panting, boneless and dazed as Yusuf rolled them so Nicolo was on his back.

"My beautiful warrior," Yusuf breathed as he leaned in to make the same promises all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bear with me. Slowing down cleaning up parts as school is about to start up again....


	43. (Yusuf) - Somewhere outside of Alexandria, 12th century

He did not want to wake him.

Yusuf paused from what he was doing. He gazed down at Nicolo's right shoulder a sharp corner against the sky. The shape of his nose was woefully shrouded by the bend of his elbow. The mark on his lower jaw was a navigation point, enticing Yusuf to steer a kiss on that spot again and again. 

The fig trees barely reached Yusuf’s shoulders when he's seated, but the leaves still cast interesting shadows on Nicolo’s pale skin, curling over his buttocks and calves like forbidden tattoos. Oh, he would love to trace the shadows on sweet flesh with his finger, no, his tongue. But alas, such touches would wake Nicolo. Hm. Perhaps later.

Yusuf was at a similar undress. He did not see a reason to search for his discarded trousers. They bathed, lay by the fig trees to dry as Yusuf plucked ripe figs off the branches so Nicolo could halved them and mix them with the cheese and honey. The mixture sat in a small crockery on the grass to soften enough to smear across one of the many loaves of bread they were gifted. It would make a fine meal, should they feel inclined to go back to the house.

Up ahead, the hens squawked and squabbled with the horse limping around toeing their pen with a hoof. The beast was most likely trying to eat their feed, having finished the generous pail of chaff Nicolo insisted Yusuf should give it. 

Yusuf described to Nicolo what he found when he revived. Nicolo was convinced the horse protected him. Yusuf was certain the bandits were merely unfortunate enough to be underfoot of the beast. 

Yusuf shook his head as he turned a page of the stack on his lap, flipping out the rough sketch of a war horse on its hind legs and smoothed a palm over the fresh sheet.

“Must you stare?” Nicolo mumbled. He did not roll onto his back. He stayed slightly curled, his head on the bent of his elbow. He was lying on his side, his back to Yusuf, dozing on top of Yusuf’s cloak spread out on the grass. Despite the cooling air, Nicolo seemed content to lie nude under the rising sun. 

“Was I?” Yusuf murmured. Pity. He lost the opportunity to wake his Nicolo with his mouth. He picked up the thin piece of charcoal again. He quietly drew the subtle curve of Nicolo’s right bicep.

"I am not looking but I feel your eyes on me." Nicolo sounded bemused. "Have you not seen enough of me?"

"Never," Yusuf said with fierce feeling. His charcoal crushed at the tip with his fervent answer. "I would never tire of looking at you."

Nicolo huffed, but did not protest. He continued to lie there, like a pale stone statue in repose. 

“You said you wanted to stay in bed, yet here we are by the fig trees,” Nicolo yawned. “You could have at least let me put on my clothes.”

“Why,” Yusuf said distractedly as he smudged a line, adding shadow and a softer shape to Nicolo’s arm. “When we are going back to bed?”

Nicolo scoffed sleepily. “To sleep?”

“Tired so soon?” Yusuf teased as he pressed the charcoal lightly, stroking up to draw the slender column of Nicolo’s throat. "We have only just break fast."

Yusuf's charcoal stopped at the mouth. His charcoal would not be able to capture the pink and shy curl of Nicolo’s mouth.

“It takes too much work to think of a reply to you right now,” Nicolo yawned again. He shifted more to his side, his right hip rolling up, his buttocks presented to Yusuf.

Yusuf’s groin stirred at the reddened patches on the back of Nicolo’s thighs and the sticky spots that splattered under the swell of his cheeks.

“You would think you are well rested considering how long you stayed in bed,” Yusuf murmured.

“If you let me sleep, I would be,” Nicolo retorted drowsily.

Yusuf chuckled low in his throat.

“Would you rather I let you sleep, _hobi_? You should have said, but all you said was my name over and over when my tongue was deep inside you.”

From where Yusuf seated, he could see Nicolo’s right ear pinking. Yusuf bit back a smirk.

“Or,” Yusuf went on in a low growl, “You could have asked when we were out here. I would not have protested. Not with your cock so deep in my throat.”

That pink deepened to a red as a flush painted down Nicolo’s back. Buttocks flexed as if remembering Yusuf’s fingers slipping in, breaching the taint and burrowing deep inside Nicolo.

Yusuf felt a different kind of flush as he recalled how Nicolo cried out, clenching around Yusuf’s fingers, his cock twitching helplessly in Yusuf’s throat, his belly quivering as he fought to stay on the ground. Oh how he mewled broken soft cries as Yusuf folded Nicolo's left leg over his shoulder, opening Nicolo wider for his fingers. How two slipped in easier. How greedy Nicolo’s body accepted the third.

There was still resistance to the fourth, but Yusuf watched for any discomfort as he added the fourth. There was none. Like before, Nicolo's expression unfurled into a dazed bliss. And Yusuf tucked the image into his heart as he rolled and twist his fingers inside Nicolo, finding that spot and massaging that place until Nicolo arched his back off the grass and came.

Nicolo was warm and pliant around and under Yusuf. The shadows and unease Nicolo could not hide in the beginning were all but gone. Yusuf found it harder to temper the fire that roiled in his belly. Something in him wanted to pull his Nicolo to him, onto his cock and plunder into the dark heat of his body again and again.

Yusuf swallowed harder. The charcoal snapped in his hand. 

"Did you hear that?" Nicolo mumbled, lifting his head off his bent elbow. 

Yusuf placed the shattered charcoal and object by the trees' roots. He crawled on his hands and knees until he hung above Nicolo's curled form.

Nicolo turned, heavy lidded gray-blue eyes considering Yusuf above him. His lips curved, a gentle curl of his mouth as his eyes deepened into stormy seas.

"Back to bed?" Nicolo murmured. His eyes wandered down Yusuf's body, stilling at the cock rising in challenge against Yusuf's stomach.

"Not yet?" Nicolo guessed. He rolled onto his back, his limbs loose, his body unresisting as Yusuf lowered himself to align along Nicolo's body.

Nicolo's cock was lax, velvet among a tangle of bristly hair. Yusuf's erection jumped on contact, gliding along the length of Nicolo's cock.

"Four fingers," Nicolo mumbled. His hands were warm and dry when they wrapped around Yusuf's elbows. "You do not feel like only four fingers."

Yusuf could only rumbled in his throat as he rocked across Nicolo.

"You..." Nicolo started to sound breathless. His sex stirred against Yusuf's erection. "Maybe in the middle or— _Yusuf_ , but...but...not at the--"

Nicolo keened, his hips jerking up, seeking friction, seeking Yusuf.

Yusuf lowered his mouth to Nicolo's ear. He collected himself, his hips snapping towards Nicolo as Nicolo's frantic breath beat feather-like and hot against his throat. 

"Does that worry you?" Yusuf whispered into Nicolo's ear. "Does my size fill you with dread?"

"Should...it?" Nicolo groaned. His hands curled tighter around Yusuf. "I...no...n-no...I...do not understand...Yusuf..."

Yusuf leaned in, settling his weight, his cock on top of Nicolo's body bucking up to meet his.

"What do you feel right now?" Yusuf said, his mouth over Nicolo's left ear, teeth teasing the lobe. He laved the faint impression on the ear hole, a hint of the silver earrings Nicolo once wore. Yusuf knew Nicolo took them off for safe keeping and in case they needed the coin, but Yusuf missed the glint against Nicolo's jaw line.

"Do you ache, my heart?" Yusuf rasped as his tongue flicked over the lobe, breathing over it and then tasting the bit of tender flesh again. "Does something in you long for the stretch, for more?"

Nicolo's breath caught. He could not speak. He rutted against Yusuf, his thighs bunched and flexed as they tried to arch him up into Yusuf.

"Do you ache?" Yusuf repeated. He tapped Nicolo's lower lip with his fingers. "Do you want me to ease it? Hm?"

Nicolo's mouth parted. He wheezed, trying to reply but instead opened his mouth wider to let Yusuf dip his fingers in.

"Get me ready for you," Yusuf murmured. He felt his groin tighten, unbearable yet wonderfully as he watched Nicolo's tongue wrap around his two fingers to wet them.

Nicolo suddenly made a face and gagged.

Alarmed, Yusuf climbed off Nicolo. His heart hammered as Nicolo sat up and coughed.

" _Hobi_?" Yusuf asked anxiously. His chest squeezed as Nicolol grimaced.

"What..." Nicolo gagged. "Was on your fingers?"

"Eh?" Yusuf stared down at his fingers then across at Nicolo, who stuck out his tongue.

Yusuf burst out laughing at the black stripe that ran down Nicolo's tongue.

"Oh, sorry," Yusuf managed. He tapped the bottom of Nicolo's chin to try to get the other to stop looking so crossed. 

Yusuf gulped back the chuckles. He held up both hands. The other was still smeared with black dust.

"Charcoal," Yusuf snickered. "It must have covered my hands and I..." He clasped Nicolo's shoulders. His own shook too much. 

"Oh my heart, I am truly sorry, but your face..." 

Yusuf pitched forward into Nicolo's shoulder. He patted Nicolo's shoulders, his laughter renewed when Nicolo sighed.

"Charcoal?" Nicolo did not sound upset. He sounded odd. "As in...were you drawing?"

Yusuf calmed down as best he could. He found himself under a hopeful gaze.

With a steadying breath, Yusuf nodded. He twisted around, reaching behind him for the leather wrap he had made.

Nicolo was silent as he held the small parcel in his hands. He loosened the leather ties and the flap fell open to the stack of paper from Cairo.

"When I no longer saw the paper on the table, I thought you have burned them," Nicolo said quietly. He lifted one sheet that has the horse and hens sketched on it. He stilled at the simple sketch of his own arm, his eye, the side of the hair Yusuf helped trim to even the chop that happened in battle.

"I was tempted to," Yusuf admitted. "But you suffered so much to get this for me. It seemed ungrateful to throw it away."

"If you did, I would have understood," Nicolo sighed, "This would remind you of what I have done."

Yusuf cleared his throat. "This reminds me of what you felt for me."

Nicolo stared at Yusuf.

Yusuf took back the leather wrap. "I admit the idea of touching ink and pen again still fills me with guilt and grief, but this also represented what you would do for me, as equal if not more of what I would do for you."

Yusuf shrugged. "The drawings are crude with charcoal, but they are drawn with my feelings for you, on the paper created from your feelings for me."

The leather wrap creaked when Yusuf curled the bundle in his hands.

"I would never throw that away so callously."

Nicolo was silent, his eyes on the wrap that held the last remaining stack of paper.

"If you like," Nicolo offered. "I could bind them into a book, so the pages will stay together."

Yusuf smiled at Nicolo. "That is a good idea."

Nicolo seemed to struggle with a decision. He bit his lower lip in thought.

Abruptly, Nicolo rose to his feet. There was a moment the sun shone behind him and his lithe form seemed to flare with a light that made Yusuf's breath catch.

Nicolo extended a hand.

"Let us go back."

"To sleep?" Yusuf joked, trying to keep his voice steady.

Nicolo's smile was shaky, but his eyes were intense on Yusuf.

"I have something to show you."


	44. (Nicolo) - Somewhere outside of Alexandria, 12th century

He was not ready.

Nicolo’s heart pounded as he rose to his feet. He shook out Yusuf’s cloak and wrapped it around himself.

“Ah,” Yusuf commented lightly. He collected his leather roll and the jar of figs. “Then the thing you wish to show me was not you walking back to our house. Pity.”

Nicolo narrowed his eyes at Yusuf. The other grinned back. He was at ease of his lack of attire. Yusuf stood with the jar against his hip.

"Would you like the cloak?" Nicolo offered as he wrapped it tighter around himself. The hens and their horse was the only ones here, but it still felt odd to walk around nude this often. Even bathing from the stream, Nicolo usually insisted on dressing. Yusuf was more eager to pull the clothing off Nicolo once they were in the house.

It was not the reason why Nicolo insisted. It was an...unexpected benefit.

Yusuf's grin broadened as his eyes raked up Nicolo's body. 

"If it means it is off your body, then yes, I want the cloak."

Nicolo shook his head, his mouth ticking up as they padded towards their home. Yusuf chuckled softly. Nicolo was torn between amusement and exasperation.

The anxious bind around his chest eased. Nicolo's toes dug into the grass. The cloak brushed over his cock and buttocks.

But it was not this strange, heavy feeling of someone else. And Nicolo realized that was Yusuf’s intent. He relaxed as he drew closer to home. When the door was within sight, an idea formed.

Nicolo shrugged off the cloak. The cloak slithered down his body and pooled to his feet.

Behind him, Yusuf choked.

Nicolo turned around. Yusuf swallowed hard, his eyes lingering on Nicolo's sex before slowly following the body up to Nicolo’s eyes.

With an arched eyebrow, Nicolo walked backwards. He kept his stare on Yusuf. 

Yusuf’s brown eyes swirled black as night. Nicolo walked slowly, flushing as he felt his cock shifted as he moved. How he must look. His gaze drifted to Yusuf’s cock. It stood flushed against Yusuf’s stomach, bobbing as Yusuf stalked—it was the only word for it—closer to Nicolo.

Before Nicolo could turn around, Yusuf crowded him to the door. His hands shot out on either side of Nicolo’s head.

“And what is it,” Yusuf purred, “that you would like to show me, _hobi_?”

Nicolo’s stomach clenched when Yusuf’s erection pressed against his hip. Yusuf’s muscular thighs flexed, his skin sliding across Nicolo’s flank.

“Not what you are thinking,” Nicolo managed. His lower back pressed to the door to stop from arching into Yusuf’s body, into that weight that was trapped between them.

“Oh?” Yusuf murmured. His legs flexed again, heated skin gliding over Nicolo’s. Leg hairs teased Nicolo’s skin.

“Do you know what I am thinking?” Yusuf lowered his head, his lips over Nicolo’s, but did not touch.

Nicolo curled a finger around Yusuf’s cock like a hook.

Yusuf’s breath stuttered against Nicolo.

“You are thinking the figs are ready?” Nicolo said casually. He gently tugged Yusuf’s erection closer. “And you would like to eat?” Another tug. A droplet fell on his hand.

“Because you are hungry,” Nicolo finished. He slipped his entire hand around Yusuf, let his hand skim the smooth length. He wiped the bead of moisture away.

“I am hungry,” Yusuf rumbled, “But not for figs. Should I show you against this door? Should I swallow down your cock, drain you dry? Should I have your legs around me as my fingers fill you?”

Nicolo’s body heated all over. It sounded like a threat and promise. A weight grew unbearable between his legs. He swayed towards Yusuf and forced himself to stop just as Yusuf leaned towards him.

“You s-should,” Nicolo rasped. He planted his hands on the lightly furred muscles and the heat of Yusuf’s body.

“But,” Nicolo nudged Yusuf away, “not now.” Nicolo grimaced and backtracked.

“Not yet,” Nicolo corrected himself. He patted Yusuf to take another step back so Nicolo could open the door.

Yusuf loomed. Heat poured out of Yusuf’s body. Nicolo found himself struggling not to lean into Yusuf’s body.

The palm sized bundle was tucked into Nicolo’s pack under their bed. He debated whether to give it to Yusuf or not since they left the village. 

But Yusuf kept the paper from Cairo. Yusuf started making art again.

A hand dropped onto Nicolo’s shoulder. When he looked up, Yusuf was on their bed. Yusuf’s eyes were cloudy with concern.

“If I am going too fast,” Yusuf murmured, “you know you can tell me?” His eyes went to Nicolo’s hand. He smiled faintly.

“Ah.”

Yusuf studied Nicolo as he sat down next to Yusuf.

“I have something for you,” Nicolo stammered. “But I am not sure how you will react or if you would wish it gone.”

“I refuse nothing from you,” Yusuf said quietly. “But you gave me so much. You did not need to...”

Yusuf trailed off when Nicolo opened the cloth.

“You did not want the pen, yet you kept it to remember,” Nicolo explained. “I thought it best if you remember it with something else.”

Yusuf gingerly picked up the small strip of silver. It was half the length of Yusuf’s thumb, narrower as well. Yusuf plucked at the chain threaded through the tiny loop.

But as Yusuf held it up to the light their home offered, Nicolo was struck with a sinking feeling. He etched the cartouche as close as he remembered. But now, in Yusuf’s artistic hands, the chain looked too thick. The plaque suddenly looked nothing like the inscriptions Yusuf had pointed out.

“There was little silver from the pen’s tip,” Nicolo fumbled. “The metal smith could not salvage enough for what he needed. I...” Nicolo took a deep breath.

“I used the silver in the pen and one of D-one of the silver coins he gave me.”

The silver plaque disappeared within Yusuf’s fist.

Nicolo set his jaw and pushed the words out.

“It was when I was first...” Nicolo exhaled.

“He paid me two silver coins to be the one to teach me how to service others.” Nicolo stared hard at Yusuf’s fist. It was on top of Yusuf’s knee, the silver cartouche inside.

“I used one coin to buy what we needed, but I worried the coin would run out again. I was sure it would be only one time and this was all we would have. I put it away.”

Nicolo’s thumb dug into the mattress.

“But coin ran out faster than I expected. I now know it was his doing, to force me to seek those who would pay for my...service.”

Nicolo gestured weakly to Yusuf’s fist.

“I forgot about the coin. When the metal smith said it was not enough even with my earrings, I thought of the coin.”

Yusuf opened his hand and considered the cartouche. He traced the lines with a trembling finger.

“You remembered,” Yusuf said quietly.

Nicolo nodded. The three symbols gleamed within the cartouche.

“The sun. The moon. The stars.” Nicolo took a deep breath. “You showed me these on the pyramids as we traveled.”

Yusuf’s finger stroked the lines etched into the silver.

Yusuf lifted it up higher by the chain. “It shines like a star.”

Nicolo’s throat worked. “The pen gives you sorrow.” He shook his head when Yusuf opened his mouth to deny it. “I know you think of it as something else, but it also gives you sorrow.”

The pendant spun in the chain. It was simple, too simple. It was nothing like the rings Yusuf sold when there was no work to be found.

“One day,” Nicolo rasped. “We will get your rings back, but for now, I thought this...”

Nicolo shook his head.

“Help me put this on, _hobi_.”

Nicolo met Yusuf’s eyes. They glittered wetly as they gazed back.

“Are you sure?” Nicolo ventured. He gestured weakly at the chain. “There was not enough silver to make a stronger chain. The design, I was not sure if I remembered the symbols correctly.”

Yusuf held up the chain, waiting.

Nicolo was unsure why his hands shook as he took the necklace. The pendant flashed white.

Yusuf bowed his head, his curls flattened on the side he slept. The chain caught briefly on his ears as Nicolo looped the necklace over his head.

The pendant settled low on Yusuf’s sternum. Against Yusuf’s brown skin, the piece looked impossibly bright.

Yusuf gazed down at the cartouche with awe. He stroked it with a thumb. 

“I also know what you are doing,” Nicolo murmured. “It is not necessary, Yusuf.”

Yusuf winced. He lifted his eyes. His mouth crooked into a half-grimace.

Warmth filled Nicolo’s chest as he considered Yusuf and the flushed cheeks.

“You do not need to be careful with me. Not anymore.” Nicolo smiled faintly. “Indulging me, spoiling me, pleasuring me...”

“Was I that obvious?” Yusuf scratched his beard.

“Not at first, but as the day went, I realized your intention.” Nicolo laughed softly. 

“You worry I am too anxious. You stretched and filled me in hopes of sparing me any discomfort later tonight and...”

Yusuf’s knee pressed against Nicolo’s.

“Keeping you sated and spent all day is something I relish doing," Yusuf said. "I am not much a martyr when I take such delight doing this.”

“I do not doubt you enjoy trying to take me apart,” Nicolo remarked dryly.

“Trying?” Yusuf sounded insulted. He chuckled when Nicolo rolled his eyes. “Does this mean I failed to render you speechless?”

Nicolo huffed as Yusuf pulled him closer. His eyes closed when he felt Yusuf’s beard tickling his throat. Nicolo grumbled as Yusuf pulled back.

“Have I failed to fill every part of you so you will not feel empty?” Yusuf murmured. He slipped a hand under Nicolo. He palmed Nicolo’s cheek, spreading him.

“Have I failed to swallow every breath?”

Yusuf crushed his lips over Nicolo’s, his tongue darting in when Nicolo’s mouth parted. The kiss deepened as Yusuf’s hand on his buttocks knead the cheek, thumb massaging the thin skin between his taint and his sacs.

Nicolo felt Yusuf’s pendant, cool and slender trapped between their chests. 

“Have I failed to touch every part of you?” Yusuf rasped. He eased Nicolo down to the mattress. Yusuf arched, pressing their bellies together, the silver piece spinning in the space between them. Nicolo moaned, his eyes fixed on Yusuf's throat, his skin tingling wherever the pendant touched. 

Yusuf gripped Nicolo’s shoulders. His hips rolled forward, their lengths lining up into a heated and rough pace.

Nicolo lifted his right leg and hooked it around Yusuf's middle. He felt Yusuf growl, the vibration sinking into his thigh. Yusuf thrummed against his leg, buttocks clenching as he rutted into Nicolo.

Sweat was not enough to ease their bodies into the slow rolling pace they enjoy, but Nicolo loathed to stop. The dish of oil for their bread was out of reach. The table was barely visible out of the corner of his eye.

Yet Yusuf slowed, as if the dish of oil was within his sight, piquing his awareness. He panted, the wild edge in his eyes receding.

"Yusuf," Nicolo breathed. "Do not fear I will break. " He wrapped his hands around Yusuf's biceps to feel the flex and bulge of his arms as they fought to keep Yusuf above him. He arched up, his pelvis jutting up as high as he could manage under Yusuf.

They groaned at the contact. Sweat and bitter musk rose between them, thicker in the air as Nicolo struggled to thrust up against Yusuf.

"I will not break," Nicolo panted. "Please..."

"Break?" Yusuf scoffed breathlessly, "You will not break, Nicolo di Genova. You never have. But task me to try. I dare you." 

The bed underneath Nicolo bobbed under Nicolo like a current. Yusuf vibrated against Nicolo's leg. He swayed into Nicolo, his cock leaking trails across Nicolo's stomach.

Nicolo's skin shrank around him. He gasped against Yusuf as he swayed, caught within Yusuf's motion. He was dizzy, his words spilling out broken and desperate. Yusuf was trapped within the cage of his legs, bucking and jerking their erections together. 

Yusuf slipped his hand under Nicolo's left leg. Nicolo groaned as Yusuf's fingers dug into his hip, blunt, bruising, challenging. 

"Yes," Nicolo said, his eyes glued to Yusuf. "Here. Now."

Yusuf's pace stuttered. "I should—"

Nicolo's fingers curled bloodless around Yusuf's arms. 

"Please. _Now_. Please do not make me beg. I will not, but if you do not...Yus—"

With an abrupt tug, Yusuf yanked Nicolo closer to his groin. With each snap of his hips, Yusuf pulled Nicolo to him.

It was an imitation of what Nicolo imagined. Yusuf tugged Nicolo towards him as his cock clashed with Nicolo's. The bed jolted underneath. Yusuf's knees loudly scraped across the padding as he thrust into a feverish pace, their erections rubbing frantically against each other.

Yusuf huffed. He clutched hard into the muscle of Nicolo's flank. Yusuf's moves grew erratic. It felt like they were grappling each other. The push and tug blurred into endless waves of heat.

The bed creaked, shaking as Yusuf's hips snapped roughly over Nicolo. He came, when, they were not sure. Or perhaps it was Nicolo. White fluid spread messily between them, slicking skin, mixing with sweat.

"Nic—" Yusuf choked. He leaned into Nicolo, their cocks uncomfortably crushed to each other within the tight space. Tears or sweat dripped down into the hollows of Nicolo's throat. 

" _Hobi,_ " Yusuf chanted. "My Nicolo, you have my heart. You have my everything. I love you. I lo—"

"Let me have you," Nicolo groaned. 

Yusuf was flushed. He gasped around his, "Yes...Anything..."

"The oil," Nicolo rasped. He regretted his words when Yusuf turned away. Nicolo curled his hands tighter around Yusuf's arms when Yusuf's weight eased off. He whined in the back of his throat. There was a growing ache in his belly, a hollow, carved out feeling that made his hole spasm. It hurt, the need. It _hurt._

Nicolo closed his eyes when he felt Yusuf's oil slicked fingers on him, oil dribbling over his taint. Nicolo's leg slipped off, twitching as two fingers pushed drops of oil into him before breaching him. They hooked and twisted inside Nicolo. 

"Oh, oh..."

"My heart...careful...wait..."

The fingers thrust, spread apart, closing back together as they rotated in and out.

"Uh, uh..." Nicolo panted. The fingers reshaped him, his body quivering to yield. When the third finger pushed in, Nicolo wanted to scream. The oil was warm, the fingers moved so boldly inside him. 

Nicolo felt a growing pang, his hole fluttering, convulsing with that same need. He clenched around Yusuf's fingers. Yusuf groaned. Nicolo bear down abruptly, rocking, his pelvis jerking up as he tried to get them deeper.

"Slower, careful, my heart. We should..." Yusuf dropped his head onto Nicolo's chest. He ground his returning erection along Nicolo's thigh, his fingers moving roughly inside him out of rhythm.

"Yusuf," Nicolo plead. He dimly heard himself babble something, in a language that was his own, maybe, did he say something? His ears were filled with Yusuf's choked off sounds. Concern and lust warred within Yusuf. His desperation hung heavy between his legs, dark and engorged. It looked painful. Yusuf sounded like he was in pain.

Nicolo pulled Yusuf close to his face. He felt Yusuf's cock pressed hot into his belly.

Yusuf's pupils were overblown, fevered as they gazed onto Nicolo. His breathing was ragged. He could barely speak.

So Nicolo spoke for both of them .

"Yusuf," Nicolo hissed as he arched up to Yusuf, squeezed the thick fingers in him as hard as he could.

"Yusuf al-Kaysani, I _dare_ you."

Yusuf's eyes widened.

Nicolo clutched Yusuf's arms.

"You would shirk on your promise to me? You dare?" 

Yusuf stared at Nicolo first with shock. Then his eyes bloomed into a dark fire. His breathing roughened even more, but his hands were steady when they slipped under Nicolo's thighs and pulled Nicolo's knees over his shoulders.

Nicolo smoothed damp palms down the length of Yusuf's arms as he laid back and wait to be consumed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this rate, it’s just all sex from here on. LOL.


	45. (Yusuf) - Somewhere outside of Alexandria, 12th century

Perhaps _he_ was the one who was not ready.

Yusuf smoothed his hands down Nicolo’s flank. Over and over.

Was Nicolo this pale before? Or was he paler now—no, that can not be. The sun has graced him with a faint tan that only made his eyes more startling to behold. His hair has captured sunlight once again, streaks of reddish gold among mahogany. No, he was not as pale as before.

Yusuf watched, transfixed at a bead of oil sliding down Nicolo’s skin. It looked like a tear. His stomach churned. He suddenly felt cumbersome, his fingers too large inside Nicolo, too blunt. Something inside him howled to press into that tight opening with more than just his fingers and take what was before him.

But another part of him recoiled at the thought of pushing in too soon, too strong, too fast. His fingers pressed through with such resistance, how could he think his cock would be easily welcomed?

Around Yusuf’s fingers, Nicolo’s dark heat wrapped tighter. Yusuf could not stifle his moan. He felt Nicolo’s pulse against the pads of his fingers. When he moved his fingers, he felt Nicolo’s body throb around him slick and hot. The clutch of the most intimate space swelled and moved around his fingers.

Yusuf’s head squeezed tight. His chest seized with such want yet also with such fear.

“Yusuf,” Nicolo rasped. _Look at me_ , his voice commanded.

Eyes burning, Yusuf lifted his heavy head to stare dazed at Nicolo.

His face flushed, his brow damp with sweat, Nicolo locked his gaze with Yusuf. Yusuf could not look away.

"Yusuf al-Kaysani, I _dare_ you."

Nicolo’s hands curled around Yusuf’s elbows. His mouth was set in a determined line. He appeared as the fighter by his side, not splayed out before Yusuf.

"You would shirk on your promise to me?” Nicolo’s grip was starting to numb Yusuf’s arms. He clenched hard around Yusuf’s arms. “You dare?"

Nicolo’s voice reverberated. Nicolo’s demand shivered up Yusuf’s arms

Yusuf gaped at Nicolo. Nicolo stared back, his jaw set, his eyes fevered with a mix of challenge and fear.

It was the fear that roused Yusuf out from his own. Nicolo’s eyes echoed the quelling inside Yusuf. And Yusuf could not ignore the flicker of doubt behind the gleam.

Yusuf breathed hard, his fingers pulling out. The need to gather Nicolo to him warred with the need to settle over Nicolo with his body.

 _Look at me_ , Yusuf echoed in his gaze as he pulled Nicolo’s knees to fold over his shoulders. Nicolo lay before him, exposed body and heart. But his expression was of trust, his limbs relaxing as Yusuf slipped the cushion under his buttocks. Nicolo was silent, his face open, unshadowed as Yusuf spread him open with his trembling hands.

Nicolo traced Yusuf's arms as he settled deeper onto the bed. The padding sank under their weight and Nicolo shot Yusuf a rueful grimace when he twitched.

Yusuf clasped hands over Nicolo’s knees, watching as toned thighs flexed. The puckered entrance, that dark swirl of Nicolo’s taint revealed itself.

Yusuf turned his head and kissed the side of Nicolo’s left knee. His hands swept down, to the fold of Nicolo’s hips. Nicolo’s buttocks quivered over Yusuf’s palms as thumbs pressed in and spread his cheeks wider.

“Careful,” Yusuf murmured although he was not sure if he was speaking to Nicolo or himself. His erection, which waned in the beginning, now tapped Nicolo’s leg, leaking with impatience. His cock wept, trickles from the slit dripping onto Nicolo’s flushed cock.

The dish of oil shook as Yusuf held it over Nicolo’s taint. He watched, mouth dry, as two drops pooled at the rim.

Nicolo made a soft sound as Yusuf pressed his fingers in again, pushing the oil in. He stroked carefully, two fingers like crossing swords inside Nicolo, kneading slicked walls. He felt the tension there, around him, but it was not clear what the tension hinted.

“Yusuf,” Nicolo half-sighed his name. The tension was in his voice as well. Nicolo reached down and touched Yusuf’s wrist, staying there as Yusuf’s hand moved to work Nicolo loose.

The warmth of Nicolo’s long fingers around Yusuf’s wrist calmed him. He twisted his fingers, turning just so, petting over that spot with gentle precision.

“Oh,” Nicolo murmured, shuddering around Yusuf’s touch. His hand curled around Yusuf’s wrist, following as Yusuf turned his hand and massaged the spot again.

“Uh...” Nicolo breathed out. “Uh...Yus—“ He whimpered.

Nicolo was tenser now, which was not Yusuf’s intention. He murmured, replying to Nicolo’s soft sounds with gentle ones of his own. He eased away from that spot. He kissed both knees when Nicolo uttered a broken and disappointed sound.

Yusuf inserted a third finger in. He hesitated before spreading the three digits apart inside Nicolo. He has always kept them cinched together before.

Nicolo’s left knee jerked, knocking under Yusuf’s jaw.

“S-sorry,” Nicolo whimpered. His right knee did the same when Yusuf widened the spread. “Oh...s-sor...”

Yusuf shushed Nicolo as his fingers slipped out. His throat worked as he tried to push them back in.

“You are tight,” Yusuf murmured, breaking the unspoken agreement not to talk to each other. “I...I may not fit.”

“You will.” Nicolo sounded dazed, yet sure. His hand around Yusuf’s wrist tightened.

“Please, no more. Yusuf, now.”

Nicolo’s hand drifted to Yusuf’s cock. He could not reach, not quite, his blunt fingers skimming the engorged cock.

Yusuf let out a groan bore of pain and hunger. He yearned to lean in, chase Nicolo’s hand. His cock throbbed as he tipped oil over his length. He heard splatters of oil on the padding—oh, he forgot the pelts. Wait, he wanted to pull the blanket close. 

His hand gingerly coated his cock. He coated his hand with more oil. Was it enough? Should he get more? Should he pour more over Nicolo?

Too soon, Yusuf's erection tapped against Nicolo’s taint.

“You will tell me to stop if I hurt you,” Yusuf rasped as he took hold of himself. Loosely. Any firmer and he would shatter all over Nicolo.

“No,” Nicolo said calmly despite his flushed face. “No, I will not.”

“ _Ho—_ ”

“I will not,” Nicolo interrupted. “Because you will not hurt me.”

Yusuf choked out a sad laugh, but did not argue. He leaned in, one hand under Nicolo’s hip to tilt him up more, the other hand guiding his erection.

No, no, no, this would not work, Yusuf thought as his cock rested on the rim of Nicolo’s entrance. His breath stuttered. He rubbed Nicolo’s hole, at the swirl of muscle and thought how small it looked compared to the swollen head of his cock.

“Yusuf,” Nicolo whispered urgently. He stared at Yusuf when he lifted his eyes.

“ _Look at me._ ”

Yusuf’s throat worked. He nodded with difficulty. His eyes locked with Nicolo’s, Yusuf flexed, his hips rolling, pressing his cock into the knot of muscle.

Nicolo drew in a long breath, shuddering as he exhaled.

There was a brief sensation of his cock being squeezed before muscles relaxed. Yusuf’s blunt head pushed past the muscular ring. There was a faint wet sound. A drop of oil plopped to the mattress under them. 

Loud in the silence of their home, Nicolo’s breath stuttered. Yusuf froze.

Nicolo’s eyes briefly closed, brow furrowing. There was an expression of intense concentration. One of his hands drifted down to where they were linked. He ran a light touch up along Yusuf’s cock. He traced it down to his entrance.

“Oh,” Nicolo exhaled.

Nicolo’s eyes slowly opened. He smiled up at Yusuf.

Yusuf soaked in that smile, that wonderment and warmth in those gray-blue eyes, that hand caressing the connection of their bodies.

With Nicolo’s smile tucked warm in his heart, Yusuf wove his fingers through Nicolo’s hand and leaned in.

His cock caught within the clutch of Nicolo’s body. Yusuf grimaced. Nicolo’s hand spasm briefly within his grasp. But Nicolo said nothing. He stayed quiet as Yusuf hesitantly pushed harder.

Yusuf sank—it was the only way to describe it—into a well of heat. Nicolo’s hand squeezed, out of assurance not pain and was that not an irony? Nicolo’s lean body unfurled bare before Yusuf and he was the one reassuring Yusuf instead of the other way around.

There were words Yusuf should offer, gestures and smiles he should give as he slipped into a dark heat Nicolo offered no other. This here, around his cock, around his heart, was his and his alone.

The enormity of Nicolo’s gift struck Yusuf as he locked completely into his Nicolo, his sacs flushed to the soft skin under Nicolo’s buttocks. Yusuf suddenly felt humbled, utterly bowed as he felt Nicolo breathe around him.

“ _Hobi,_ ” Yusuf whispered. He stroked Nicolo’s left knee and down his leg with his other hand. He could not bear to release Nicolo’s hand in his other hand. He kissed the knee over his shoulder. He turned and rubbed his bread over the bend. The words he wanted to say grew thick and lodged in his throat.

Yusuf stayed still, waiting for Nicolo to grow accustomed to his girth. Four fingers was nothing compared to the wide base of his sex. Nicolo’s entrance was a pale line around his erection as it yawned to try to fit around him.

Nicolo’s breath was measured, a careful rhythm as he adjusted.

Yusuf murmured a sound. The sensation of Nicolo around him robbed him of real words. He mumbled soft sounds as he stroked Nicolo’s leg.

“You and I,” Nicolo suddenly rasped. He smiled again, a fragile curve of his mouth, his eyes suspiciously bright.

“You and I,” Yusuf echoed. He rested his head against Nicolo's knee. His lower back ached the longer he stayed still inside Nicolo.

"My dearest treasure," Yusuf murmured. He kissed Nicolo's knee and felt the dampness in his eyes trickle down Nicolo's thigh. "My everything. My Nicolo."

Nicolo squeezed Yusuf's hand again.

"You are big," Nicolo rasped. "But you fit." He grasped Yusuf's hand tighter. "I will not break. You can not break me. We can not be broken. Yusuf...please...I can feel you holding back."

Yusuf nodded against Nicolo's knee. He gripped Nicolo's hand, their combined hands over Nicolo's stomach. His hips rolled back and he carefully pulled out until his head caught the ridged rim. He waited. When Nicolo exhaled, he pushed and found himself sliding into Nicolo, deeper, in a single stroke.

They both moaned. Nicolo's hand spasm once again in Yusuf's grip. Nicolo's stomach clenched, sinking as he sucked in a steadying breath.

"Oh," Nicolo gasped, almost to himself. 

Yusuf did it again and again, slow, swaying deeper into Nicolo, hunched awkwardly so he could continue holding Nicolo's hand while he thrust.

Yusuf was not sure what changed or when. His pace started to quicken, still careful, but the times between his withdrawal and thrust were shorter. Nicolo's belly under their hands, clenched each time Yusuf sank back in.

It was easier to move inside Nicolo now and Yusuf's chest grew heavy at the thought why. The oil slurped loudly as he moved, Nicolo's small noises pitched soft and then loud, louder as Yusuf moved.

"Ah, ah, ah..."

It was not clear who spoke, who cried out so needy, so breathless. Yusuf's ears roared, his heart's pounding drowning out whatever noises he was making with his mouth parted.

Nicolo tugged Yusuf's hand with each thrust. He was not looking at Yusuf now. He has his eyes shut, his face flushed, damp with sweat. He held tight to Yusuf's hand, tighter, a wordless command Yusuf could not disobey.

The bed creaked underneath them. The padding seemed to rise and fall like a stormy ocean. Someone panted loudly. Someone was sobbing pleas. 

Yusuf's lower back ached as he thrust harder, deeper, his hand now tugged closer to Nicolo's heart. He clamped his other hand over Nicolo's hip. Each of his thrusts kept pushing Nicolo higher on the bed.

He should slow down. He should say something. He should—Yusuf moaned as Nicolo clenched so hard around him, his cock twitched and something snapped inside him.

He pounded—he should slow down—oh, the hot velvety grip on his cock, the sounds of Nicolo keening against his throat—wait, when had he slumped into Nicolo? It did not matter. He felt the pendant sliding between their damp bodies. Nicolo's right leg slipped off his shoulder and was now wrapped around Yusuf's middle. 

Their hands had fumbled apart. Nicolo clutched Yusuf's shoulders as he bucked, pinned between Yusuf and the bed. Yusuf gripped Nicolo's hips to keep Nicolo from jolting away with each thrust and because he needed an anchor, the feel of Nicolo flexing under him tethered him to this life. Yusuf felt like he was wrenched left and right as he piston into Nicolo.

He needed to slow down. Careful. Gentle. His _Hob—hobi, hobi, hobi..._

Yusuf cried out as Nicolo's heel on his lower back prodded him. Yusuf's knees burned as they dug into the padding. His lower back ached as he struggled between thrusting deeper and slowing down.

But Nicolo would not let him. He tugged Yusuf closer, bending himself in half. He babbled, whimpering, "There, yes, there, Yu—Oh, oh, please..." into Yusuf's ear.

Reason fled. Sense exploded and drowned Yusuf. He thrust. He burrowed deep. He shouted and Nicolo shouted back. And suddenly it was too much and not enough when Yusuf threw his head back, roaring as he came, filling Nicolo, his release flooding his Nicolo and draining out of him.

Nicolo wailed as he followed. He splattered between them, shuddering as Yusuf feverishly continued to thrust and came once more.

Yusuf murmured words that were swallowed up by Nicolo's greedy mouth. He continued to move inside Nicolo, gentler now before Nicolo nudged him back with a violent shudder yet also with a regretful moan.

"You and I," Nicolo mumbled. He curled into Yusuf, his body trembling, his legs tangling with Yusuf's. There was a wet spot under them, Yusuf's release leaked out of Nicolo with each shiver.

"You and I," Yusuf croaked as he pulled Nicolo to him. "Thank you, my heart. Thank you." He hugged Nicolo to him. 

"Sleep," Nicolo muttered. He hooked a finger into Yusuf's chain. "Later?" Nicolo sounded sleepy yet hopeful.

"Later," Yusuf agreed. He kissed the top of Nicolo's hair and followed Nicolo to sleep.


	46. (Nicolo) - Somewhere outside of Alexandria, 12th century

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: it's pretty much sex, sex, sex. With a sprinkle of plot. Maybe? LOL.

It was a feeling like no other.

Nicolo exhaled as that fullness left him. He felt oddly abandoned despite the fact the cock slid in and stretched him again a scant moment later.

Yusuf’s hands cradled his hips, his thumbs doing inexplicably wonderful things onto his skin. They made his knees braced against Yusuf’s sides twitch so hard, he worried he would crack a rib.

Nicolo would ask if Yusuf was drawing on his skin, but then Yusuf’s cock slipped in deeper and— _Oh_.

“There,” Nicolo groaned. He arched into the next thrust. He learned it made each stroke feel more...just more. It also made Yusuf make that sound.

“Here?” Yusuf growled, half purred. He gripped Nicolo’s hips tighter. He rumbled, a low rolling thrum of thunder that seemed to come from his belly.

Yes, that sound.

Nicolo keened, his hands reaching to find Yusuf as Yusuf snapped his hips forward in a one-two stroke that lanced across that spot deep within and sent bolts rippling throughout all Nicolo’s limbs.

“Ye—ah, ah, y-yes, th—Yusuf...”

Nicolo tried to tell Yusuf that was the spot, but each time, his breath was stolen by another moment of fullness and sparks that overtook his thoughts. His knees jerked, his body jolting off the bed as Yusuf started to pick up speed again.

The house smelled of the figs they stewed and the oil they smeared on their bodies. The space was still warm from the sun that hung high above their roof. The air was dry, taking away the sweat and left their skin sticky and tight.

Yusuf and Nicolo had eaten the figs smeared on warm bread as a brief respite, mindful their immortality did not grant them endless energy. The figs were meant for the afternoon and now they consumed them ravenously as an evening meal instead. They fed each other the sweet remains when there was no more bread to be had. They drank water, cleaned each other with a wet rag, put out feed for their animals and then tumbled back into bed, laughing and giggling like they were children.

The second time was slower, almost meditative. They touched each other with careful hands. It was as if it was the first time: learning their bodies and all the intimate places they could now touch. When Yusuf entered Nicolo, it felt like he slipped into place. They swayed together, Nicolo’s legs splayed wide as Yusuf leaned in, kissing him in-between strokes, spilling into Nicolo again and again until Nicolo felt full even when Yusuf’s cock left him.

But right now, in the golden light of a sun starting to rise, their pace turned desperate again. Nicolo had woken up to Yusuf sleepily gazing at him from above, his head propped up with a fist, his other hand lazily pulling his own cock, dripping spots of white between them on the bed as he had watch Nicolo sleep.

No words were needed. Nicolo reached for Yusuf and soon they grappled each other, huffing, eyes bright and mouths curved.

It felt inevitable. It felt like it was natural for Yusuf to spread the rest of the oil onto his fingers and cock. When Yusuf’s cock pushed back into Nicolo, Nicolo’s body welcomed Yusuf with only a twinge over the stretch. And Yusuf rocked into Nicolo, his hand caressing Nicolo’s sex into aching fullness.

When Yusuf came and Nicolo followed, it felt like destiny.

“I...I...” Yusuf groaned, signaling he was once again tumbling into that fevered pace he could not control and Nicolo craved.

Nicolo’s knees squeezed Yusuf in reply. He moaned as Yusuf tugged Nicolo into his thrusts, his fingers leaving bruises on his hips that faded regretfully too soon.

There. Right there. Yusuf found that intimate unseen spot inside Nicolo again. Yusuf again felt large, stretching Nicolo just to the edge of uncomfortable, locking deep inside. Nicolo found himself rocking helplessly along with Yusuf, their bodies linked and moving as one.

“Ah!” Nicolo cried out as one stroke scraped him along the mattress before his knees clamped against Yusuf so he would not be pulled off from Yusuf’s cock.

Yusuf petted Nicolo’s erection in apology and slammed harder into Nicolo as compensation. His eyes were glazed over, his cheeks red with exertion. Sweat and Nicolo’s head at night has flattened the chest hair into a matted mess.

“Nicolo, my Nicolo, I can not stop, oh, oh, you feel glorious, I can be lost in you forever— _Nicolo,_ my heart...”

The pallet creaked and groaned underneath them. The mattress rubbed raw patches along Nicolo’s back and buttocks, stinging and healing as Nicolo was pulled across the bed by Yusuf’s cock. He panted, no longer caring how he must look arching and hands flailing to touch, his cock bouncing against his belly.

Morning crept into the house despite the covered window. And the air warmed, promising a good day. The light cast strips of shadows around Yusuf and across Nicolo’s heaving belly.

Yusuf pulled Nicolo up until Nicolo was now shuddering and bucking over Yusuf’s lap. Nicolo straddled Yusuf’s thighs and grunted as Yusuf steered him onto his cock.

The pace matched their ragged breathing, the forceful thrusts matched the hard thumping of their hearts.

“Oh...uh, uh, I-I...”

Nicolo forgot what he was going to say as Yusuf drew him closer, hugging him chest to chest. Yusuf reached around, splayed a hand on Nicolo’s lower back. The other around Nicolo’s shoulders. Yusuf kept him close, close enough Nicolo saw the lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes as he thrust up into Nicolo.

The changed angle struck something deep again and again without fail. Nicolo keened. He clung to Yusuf's shoulders as he rode Yusuf’s cock, up and down over Yusuf’s lap.

The coiling of cold heat wrenched soft, broken sounds from Nicolo’s throat. He sagged forward, into Yusuf’s embrace and rode Yusuf’s erection. It seemed endless. Nicolo’s legs ached as he struggled to bear down each time as Yusuf surged up into Nicolo.

Nicolo dropped his forehead into Yusuf’s shoulder. Nicolo’s lower back spasm as he fought to stay on top of Yusuf’s lap. He slipped his arms around Yusuf’s torso. He felt Yusuf's chest heaving against him.

“Yu...Yusuf,” Nicolo gasped.

Yusuf’s hand around Nicolo’s shoulders went up to tangle into Nicolo’s hair, gently tugging until Nicolo bared his neck.

The growl against Nicolo’s throat vibrated down to shiver violently in the pit of Nicolo’s stomach. Yusuf sucked hard, scraping teeth over Nicolo’s jugular.

 _Mine,_ Yusuf said in his kiss, his lips pressing hard into Nicolo’s neck.

 _Mine,_ the hot bloom of a bruise said. Heat flared on Nicolo’s neck.

The mark must have already faded because Yusuf uttered a forlorn sound. He rubbed his nose over the spot. Nicolo hugged Yusuf tighter, clenched around Yusuf's cock and kissed Yusuf’s beard over and over when Yusuf came. Nicolo felt the warm gush flooding into him. The thick release almost felt like a punch. It pushed out Nicolo’s release to spill between their bodies soon after.

Yusuf sighed, his hand on Nicolo’s hair gentling to match the slowing strokes into Nicolo’s body. He nosed Nicolo’s throat, over that spot again and again.

“My heart,” Yusuf murmured. The pendant he wore tapped lightly on Nicolo’s sternum when he huddled closer.

Nicolo felt lightheaded with the rush of feeling he felt as Yusuf continued to pet his hair and thrust shallowly up into him, his hand stroking Nicolo’s back.

“All right,” Nicolo whispered into Yusuf’s ear. He ached, his skin too tight, too sensitive, but he would not deny Yusuf this.

Nicolo rested the side of his head against Yusuf’s beard. He drew up his hands and cradled the back of Yusuf’s head.

 _Stay,_ Nicolo’s hands said as they followed the shape of Yusuf’s head. Nicolo weakly clenched around Yusuf’s cock, still half-hard inside him.

Yusuf kissed Nicolo’s throat, a different spot, and swayed up into Nicolo, sighing as he came once more. His thighs flexed under Nicolo as warm fluid trickled out of Nicolo’s hole with each thrust. It dribbled down Nicolo’s inner thighs and over Yusuf’s lap.

Nicolo kept Yusuf close for as long as he could, murmuring wordless sounds to Yusuf’s sighs against his throat. But Yusuf sensed how raw Nicolo started feeling. He curled his arm around Nicolo’s shoulders, the other under Nicolo’s left knee.

Carefully, his brown eyes on Nicolo, Yusuf eased Nicolo onto the bed as he slipped out. Yusuf echoed the sigh Nicolo let escape.

“I...” Yusuf tried. He shook his head. He settled halfway over Nicolo. His lax cock was damp and rested in the fold of Nicolo’s hip. Yusuf turned his head. This time he was listening, his ear seeking Nicolo’s heartbeat. He smoothed a hand down Nicolo’s arm.

“Have patience with me,” Yusuf suddenly murmured, He rubbed his beard across Nicolo’s chest. He sighed when Nicolo slipped a hand into his curls again.

“Patience,” Nicolo rasped as he felt a curl and watched it spring up into a dark ribbon in Yusuf’s hair.

“It is a virtue I seem to lack with you,” Nicolo mused out loud. “The moment you touch me, I find myself greedy for more and now.”

Yusuf chuckled. He kissed the middle of Nicolo’s chest.

“The same,” Yusuf rumbled. He rested a hand above Nicolo’s navel.

“Listen to us,” Nicolo noted. He blinked heavy-lidded. Yusuf rubbed soothing circles on his stomach.

“For once you have the pretty words,” Yusuf continued, “And all I could think of was ‘The same’.” He dipped a fingertip into Nicolo’s navel and massaged the edges.

Oh, that was different. And it felt nice. Nicolo squirmed.

“But still, I ask for patience,” Yusuf whispered. “I have yet to find a word that truly describe how I feel about you."

Nicolo absently ran his fingers through Yusuf's hair.

"I do not need words. I know." Nicolo mumbled. He blinked in surprise. How was he this tired so soon? He has yet to rise from their bed. 

"Hm. Words? A poem?" Yusuf went on drowsily. "A speech, perhaps? One word is too little. Perhaps an epic. I once heard of a Greek man who wrote a wondrous tale about another man and his travels. The name escaped me, but I know I will find it one day. It is a story you will like. I should do something like that, yea?"

Nicolo made a face. "I do not need a poem."

"A short one?" Yusuf suggested. He kissed Nicolo's sternum, his hand moving lower to rub into the dark hairs of his groin.

"A homage," Yusuf said, his voice sinking lower. Nicolo shivered at Yusuf's words.

"Yes," Yusuf went on, "perhaps a few verses are better suited. A song about your wondrous coc—"

Yusuf snickered when Nicolo growled, "No, absolutely not!" Yusuf tossed out even more appalling suggestions while Nicolo tried to nudge him away. Nicolo failed, though. He was laughing too hard.

Smirking, crawling slowly until he hung over Nicolo on his knees and elbows, Yusuf's nose bumped Nicolo's. He smiled down, his cheeks red above the line of his beard. The pendant spun between them.

"Yusuf," Nicolo murmured. "I do not need it." 

"Not even an inscription about your eyes and how my cock fills upon—"

Nicolo lightly punched Yusuf in the arm. Yusuf gasped an unconvincing wounded sound. 

"No poetry about my...no, just no." Nicolo flushed. He looked up at Yusuf over him. He reached up, his fingers tracing the line of Yusuf's beard on his jaw. 

"All I need and want is you," Nicolo breathed. He wished his voice was steadier. "Search all you want for the right words, Yusuf. But I do not need to hear it. I know."

Yusuf gazed down at Nicolo. His smile grew smaller, but fonder, in a way his eyes glinted with unshed tears.

"For now, how about 'You and I,' _hobi_?" Yusuf rasped.

"Sounds perfect," Nicolo replied and pulled Yusuf down towards him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I am loving these comments. Thank you! I dearly miss the kink meme. 
> 
> No post for this weekend, I'm afraid. Sorry. First week back in school and I did nothing but work work work (and lab!) during my shortened break. My brain needs this weekend to revert back to academia. I can't be daydreaming about Kaysanova when I should be studying KD equations and protein-ligand bindings. Totally different binding. LOL.
> 
> Unnecessarily long A/N. Sorry. I'll shut up now. See you Monday. Have a good weekend!


	47. (Yusuf) - Somewhere outside of Alexandria, 12th century

“Wait.”

Nicolo hesitated, one knee pulled up to lift him out of the pool.

Yusuf savored the scene before him: the droplets of water trickling down Nicolo’s back and over the dark swirl of his taint still pink from the first bath. Nicolo gave him such an eyebrow when Yusuf suggested they bathe when they woke up.

Nicolo caught the dreamy look Yusuf suspected was on his face. He rolled his eyes, hauled himself out of the water...

And kicked a wave of water onto Yusuf’s face.

Yusuf sputtered, torn between indignant and elation when Nicolo laughed. Oh, such a deep chested and free sound from his Nicolo—

Another splash.

“Did that not rouse you out of your daze?” Nicolo asked innocently. He did not look as chaste sitting nude at the edge of their small bathing hole, his bare feet idly kicking the water, his cock a soft pink temptation between his spread legs.

“Most unkind,” Yusuf pretended to grumble. He wiped the water from his beard, using the moment to grin behind his hand. He will strive to make Nicolo laugh like that at least once every day. Perhaps twice. Yes, that is a plan.

“I am sorry,” Nicolo apologized, but the brightness of his grin and his eyes contradicted his sincerity. “Please tell me. What would you like me to wait for?"

Yusuf gestured towards Nicolo. "I wish to have a moment to appreciate what is before me."

Nicolo scoffed. "That is what you said before the first time. You said you wish to draw a picture."

"I did!"

Nicolo's eyes narrowed. "And yet your paper and charcoal sits on our table."

Oh. Yusuf scratched his beard. He waggled his eyebrows. Nicolo splashed him again.

"Are you trying to yet again delay feeding our chickens?”

It was Yusuf’s turn to roll his eyes. “That mangy beast has been stealing the bucket and tossing feed into the pen. Our birds did not starve all this week. In fact, I think we should stop feeding them. They are starting to look like their feathers weigh them down. I think one poor hen is having trouble walking now.”

Nicolo squinted at Yusuf. “I found feed stuck on their feathers. Your horse tossed feed more on them than in the pen.”

“It is a horse,” Yusuf said grandly. “That it did not eat the feed itself and knew to take the bucket off its peg is a miracle itself.”

Nicolo glanced over his shoulder towards the direction of their home.

“It should not be doing that,” Nicolo fretted. “It is still limping.” His brow furrowed.

“If that ungrateful beast would stop chewing off the bandages and allow the pumice to work, it would be prancing around like the fool it is!” Still, Yusuf made a note to check the wound. The idiot might have reopened the slash trying to feed the chickens on its own.

“We should not stay inside so much,” Nicolo said. He flushed, his mouth twisting. “This much time spent in bed can not be good.”

Yusuf scooped water with his hands and flung it towards Nicolo.

“Lies! What horrible untruths have you heard?” Yusuf splashed Nicolo again. Nicolo scoffed, kicking water back towards him.

“Those who say that have not have the taste of your coc—“ Yusuf chortled when Nicolo jumped back into the pool with a growl.

“And we are not always in bed!” Yusuf pointed out. “We are also taking baths before we go back to bed!” He snickered when Nicolo pushed him. He pushed back. Suddenly, water filled his view as they splashed.

“All right, all right,” Yusuf murmured as he captured Nicolo’s wrists. He pulled Nicolo in for a kiss. “Perhaps four days spent in such wanton behavior was a bit much, but do not tell me you did not enjoy it.”

Nicolo sighed into the kiss. His mouth parted, his body swaying into Yusuf, his hands trapped between their bodies.

“Yes,” Nicolo admitted when they parted, but did not stray too far from each other. “These four days...” He leaned in and brushed his mouth over Yusuf’s. “But we should not spend eternity like that. I will bore you quickly.”

“Never,” Yusuf declared. He drew Nicolo’s hands to his stirring sex. “Even now, I yearn for you. I would gladly have you here or...” Yusuf hesitated before finishing, “Or you have me.”

And as before, Nicolo flinched. He did not try to hide it. Not now, not when they could read each other’s bodies so intimately.

Yusuf sighed. He was not offended. Merely heartbroken and oddly touched.

“You would not hurt me,” Yusuf murmured. He pulled Nicolo’s hands up to his mouth. “I know you fear that. I am grateful for your concern, but saddened you still hold such worry in your heart.”

Nicolo exhaled. He rested his forehead against Yusuf’s.

They stayed like this, their breathing easily falling into a matched pace.

“Have patience,” Nicolo said, echoing Yusuf from days before. “There is still a part of me that fears hurting you like that.”

Yusuf grimaced.

Nicolo kissed Yusuf’s nose and swept his lips over Yusuf’s beard.

“You did not hurt me.” Nicolo nuzzled a spot under Yusuf’s jaw, where his beard was sparse, where Nicolo somehow knew was his most sensitive spot.

“You were so careful with me. I wish to be like you, take you with the same ease and pleasure you gave me.” Nicolo huffed when Yusuf tipped his head back, baring the vulnerable side of his jaw.

“You did not hurt me,” Nicolo repeated as he brushed his mouth over the spot again. “You completed me in a way I did not know I was lacking.”

Yusuf kissed their clasped hands.

“You lack nothing,” Yusuf said with feeling. “You are everything to me, more than I even knew I wanted.”

Yusuf bumped his nose to Nicolo’s.

“I will wait,” Yusuf said hoarsely. “Forever if I must. When you no longer fear yourself, for I hold no fear towards you. I will wait. Because I know it will be perfect, because it would be with you.”

Nicolo smiled, that small mysterious smile Yusuf adored. It was a gentle curl of Nicolo’s mouth, small yet so full of promise.

Yusuf reluctantly released Nicolo’s hands so he could brush a knuckle over the upturned corner of Nicolo’s mouth. Those lips ticked up higher under Yusuf’s touch.

“ _Hobi_ ,” Yusuf murmured. “Let us go to bed. Hm?”

Nicolo pulled back and considered Yusuf.

“No,” Nicolo chuckled warmly. Yusuf could not feel rejected as he basked under such a sound.

“There are things we should do.” Nicolo paused, his eyes dimming. “I...We should see how the village fare.”

Yusuf grew somber. “Of course.”

Nicolo's eyes slid away. "I know you wish to stay here. I admit, the fight was vicious and troubles me as well...but I can not help but worry..."

“Most of the fishermen would have returned from sea and Alexandria by now,” Yusuf calculated. Yusuf rubbed Nicolo’s shoulders. Nicolo’s shoulders tensed under Yusuf’s palms. "I do not imagine their return home was a joyous one."

“The dead has been buried, but grief lives on.” Nicolo sighed. “We were only able to help build temporary shelters, but winter will be upon us. You and I have been cold before, even froze to death once, but they? Those are poor dwellings. They will not provide much warmth.”

Yusuf's sigh pulled something inside.

"But what else aid can we provide besides building houses? We can not bring back the dead or heal the wounded." 

The shadows that hung back for days advanced in Yusuf's mind. 

"We can not do nothing," Nicolo said. He leaned in, stopped and peered up at Yusuf. "The loss is troubling, but there is still the living we can help. Yusuf—"

“We will help them,” Yusuf assured him. He kneaded Nicolo’s shoulders. "There is time before the cold. And there will be time for us later. I understand and I agree. I am sorry. Of course we shall go after we break fast and see what aid we can offer."

“We can help,” Nicolo agreed. He smoothed his hand over Yusuf's chest, over and over Yusuf's heart. His eyes lingered on the pendant hung around Yusuf's neck. 

“It may seem so little, but we can do some good.”

Yusuf wished he believed the same. For now, he will rely on Nicolo to believe it for them both.

He was about to yell at the beast for standing in the way, until Nicolo shook his head. At a closer look, Yusuf realized the horse stood by a burnt cart that was once the fruit cart for—Oh.

Yusuf turned away from the sight of the horse pawing a spot by the cart, looking forlorn, nickering softly.

Nicolo glanced over to Yusuf, his mouth twisting as Yusuf shrugged. Yusuf went back to scooping the muddy material into the molds laid out on the ground.

They were startled by the noise and activity that greeted them upon arrival at the village. The market space was cleared of the destroyed stalls and wagons. Rows of molds lay across the grounds to dry into mud bricks under the sun. By the mill, a narrow furrow was dug out of the stream and routed towards the center of the village where some were mixing sand and various materials to make the mud.

Life, as short as it were for the villagers, went on. It was humbling to see. Yusuf and Nicolo exchanged a look, both thinking of the four days they spent with each other. A look, nothing more, and then they went to see where they could offer help.

It was messy work. Yusuf was glad he folded up his cloak and tucked it in the bags with the horse. He folded up his sleeves and proceeded to shovel mud into hollow shells. Nicolo and a few others smoothed the surfaces and set them out to dry.

Yusuf found himself smiling to himself from time to time. Izem and the mill owner were seen going back and forth, helping and directing others. Izem, once soft spoken and hunched, was a different boy—no, a man—now.

A glance over to Nicolo, Yusuf saw Nicolo was smiling to himself as well.

There was something reassuring seeing Izem as he is now. If any good was to come from this violence, it was Izem.

Yusuf’s smile dimmed though when he spotted the weaver’s daughter, Shifa, red-eyed and sniffling, as she worked her plank over to smooth the mud. Nicolo told Yusuf about her mother, how he could not find her in time, how another tried to shield the weaver.

“Do you regret helping?”

Yusuf blinked. He looked up to find Izem next to him, a shovel now in his own thin-boned grip.

“No,” Nicolo answered for him, for them both. “We do not. We only wished it was more.”

Yusuf, a lump in his throat, nodded.

Izem appeared thoughtful and he once again looked like the youth struggling with the basic Arabic Yusuf tried to teach him. Has it really been mere months ago?

"Were you not here," Izem replied. "I fear our fate would have been worse. It is terrible, yes, but many of us survived as well."

Izem bit his lower lip. 

“I had wondered,” Izem said quietly, “When I fled Hedi’s crew, if I should have come home, to here.”

The youth frowned. Yusuf was struck by how much older he appeared. It was like Nicolo, who was often so solemn yet his youth broke through with each smile. But unlike him and Nicolo, Izem was not graced with the ability to tuck the years away under a youthful mien. Izem would grow old, lined with this sorrowful experience, his back bowed with sorrow. What befallen the village will haunt Izem for as long as he lived.

Yusuf cleared his throat. “Do you regret coming home, Izem?”

Izem appeared startled at the question. His brow furrowed, an aged expression that was ill-suited for his smooth face.

“I should,” Izem finally said. His voice lifted it as a question, but Yusuf was not sure if it is for them or for himself.

“You believe you have brought this to your home.” Nicolo’s expression held a sad understanding that made Yusuf’s stomach clench.

Izem nodded then shook his head soon after.

“No, they would have come anyway.” Izem appeared thoughtful again. “I think I was meant to be here.”

Nicolo blinked. He exchanged a look with Yusuf.

“There is a reason why I left Hedi’s crew, why I chose that moment to find the courage to leave. And there was a reason why I decided to come home instead of hiding.”

Izem tightened his grip on the shovel. The muddy mixture slurped as he scooped it up to fill a mold by his feet.

“It is the same reason,” Izem went on, “why you two chose to stay near the village, yes? It is fate that we were to meet here and help.”

“Things happen for a reason,” Yusuf said, almost to himself. Like two souls lowering swords on a battlefield. Something warm settled in his chest. “You have sound reasoning, Izem.”

“It was like destiny,” Nicolo murmured. His eyes lingered on Yusuf.

Yusuf smiled back.


	48. (Nicolo) - Somewhere outside of Alexandria, 12th century

His skin itched.

Nicolo rounded back his shoulders. The tunic rippled down his body, still looser than he remembered it to be. Yusuf insisted Nicolo was ‘wasting away before his eyes’ in Cairo. Perhaps it was a fair assessment after all.

In front of Nicolo, the bowl of grain and lentils steamed, fresh out of the kettle in their newly built hearth. The hens poked their little beaks around the floor by his feet.

“Do not tell him I let you in here,” Nicolo told the brown and black speckled bird who flew up to the table with furious flapping wings. It pecked delicately into his cupped hand and the feed he offered. “He insists your feathers are warm enough.”

The chicken’s beak clicked lightly into Nicolo’s hand, quickly finishing the feed. Its head tilted, eyeing his hand for more.

“No more,” Nicolo chided the bird. He grimaced when it let out an unhappy screech before hopping off the table. It left a few brown feathers behind.

Another tried to nudge its beak into Nicolo’s bowl.

“You can have it,” Nicolo told it as he collected the feathers into a sack for Yusuf. Yusuf wanted to make a head cushion as well.

The grain was too hot for the hen’s liking, though. It leapt off the table, squawking at the other birds. It chased off the chicks gathered around the dish under the table. The dish, filled with feed, rattled loudly under the chickens’ beaks.

Nicolo rested his chin on a fist. Elbow to the table, Nicolo watched the fluffy creatures walk, bobbing up and down, chirping at him.

The bowl of grain still looked just as unappetizing as before, but Nicolo loathed wasting food. He listlessly stirred the mixture with a spoon. He wondered why he did not have the urge to eat it when it tasted delicious the night before.

“It was one of his better attempts,” Nicolo told one bird as it wobbled by. He was ignored for the leftover feed sprinkled on the ground.

Yusuf went into the village to help Izem and the mill’s owner. They wanted him to draw up a map of what homes were built and will be built. However, some villagers read Greek, others only read Arabic or lingua franca. Yusuf’s pen and affinity to languages were both needed.

Nicolo’s grasp on either language was scant and his Latin would not help. He offered to stay behind to check on their traps and finish moving their stored food outside to make use of the cold nights.

Yusuf looked concerned, but he said nothing. He kissed Nicolo goodbye and rode off for the village. He glanced back a few times. Nicolo knew if he asked Yusuf to stay, Yusuf gladly would.

“But what would he do were he to stay?” Nicolo asked a young fluffy chick who tottered into his foot on new unsteady legs. “The village needs his help more.”

The young bird did not answer. Nicolo set it down by the feed, nudging it closer to the dish with a gentle crooked finger.

“You would provide eggs one day the village needs,” Nicolo told it. He shrugged a shoulder, looked around their house. “The least we could do is provide you shelter.”

The eggs hatched three weeks after the attack on the village. Yusuf claimed the hens lay the eggs to cheer them up; the birds never hatched eggs or appeared to have any inclination to do so. Nicolo worried they need more feed and a warmer pen.

Nicolo’s shoulders squirmed under his tunic again. He glanced over to the woven blanket on the bed. He wanted to burrow under it but he should not be lying in bed while Yusuf toiled in the village. Besides, the blanket was no longer warm from the heat of Yusuf's body.

The nights were colder in winter, a painful contrast to the days of sunlight. He remembered his first year traveling with Yusuf and how cold nights were despite how hot the deserts were during the day.

Behind Nicolo, the flames in the larger hearth they built sputtered under the kettle. Nicolo had set the pot down to keep Yusuf’s food warm. He warmed up the grain for the afternoon, but found himself unable to even tolerate the smell. He left the pot in the hearth to keep warm, finally spooning a small bowl for himself as the sun started to descend.

The new hearth gave off plenty of heat, providing warmth in the house and warmed the wall the stable and the pen shared on the other side. Yusuf and Nicolo had relocated them to stand on the other side of the hearth.

One of the hens chased a kernel across the floor, crashing into the empty pail used to hold fish and tumbled into it. It squawked, wings beating at the edges of the container as it struggled to climb out.

Nicolo could not find the energy to be entertained at the hens’ antics. He watched as the chickens gathered around the bucket, twittering anxiously until the trapped bird found a way to hop out.

The pail rung hollowly as it tipped back over.

The hearth hissed and popped.

The lid on the kettle rattled.

The wooden board over the window opening banged.

The hens chirped to each other.

A lump formed in Nicolo’s throat. It felt like he could hear his heart thumping too loud in his ears. He glanced around, seeing the walls of their home as if for the first time. They loomed around him.

His skin still itched horribly. 

Nicolo stood up, startling the chickens about his feet.

“Do not lay eggs on our bed,” Nicolo said absently as he slipped on his boots and retrieved his sword in the cracked jar. 

Nicolo pushed the door closed so the wind would not swirl into the house. He shuddered, his shoulders almost to his ears as he staggered towards the stream.

After a few swings and lunges, Nicolo’s limbs moved easier in the chill. He panted as he went through the techniques they taught him, back when he could barely hold up the sword.

Step forward, turn, swing.

The air was biting on the exposed parts of his skin. But as Nicolo parried, slicing the air in front of him, dodging pretend blows, the sharp pricks on his skin went unnoticed.

The Church taught him to pray, taught him to fight, taught him what he thought was right. And then they put him on a ship, towards a land that was not theirs and told him to do some good.

A swing faltered. Nicolo dug his heels into the frost crusted dirt before he fell into the stream.

The stream to his left moved sluggishly, slowed by the fist-sized chunks of ice. Nicolo knew winter was cruel to trees and water. When he was in the monastery, he once overheard of a land up North that was covered in ice after days of snow.

Crops died, animals died, people died. No prayer or sword would have saved them.

Nicolo’s longsword whistled high pitched as he raised his sword overhead and swung it down.

It was harder to make bricks with the sun scarce in the winter. The days were no longer as hot or as long. The village built what they could, but soon there will not be enough to rebuild what they lost. The cold would finish what Hedi’s men had strive to do when they attacked.

Nicolo’s sword struck a rock along the stream’s edge. The impact vibrated up to Nicolo’s elbow. There was a _crack_. He felt something shift wrong in his right hand and his wrist burned. He did not drop his sword, though.

A few of the chickens and goats perished in the attack. Those who survived were too old or too young to provide a steady source of milk or eggs.

His sword tip went across the stream’s surface. Its wake flew up in a curtain of water that caught the reds and golds of a day starting its change to night.

A day has gone by. How many houses were done today? Was Yusuf able to tell the villagers the suffering to follow as the days grew shorter and colder?

Water rose up under his sword’s sharp swing again, drenching Nicolo as drops fell back into the stream, but he already felt numb long before the water. He shook his head dry of water. He stared blankly at the stream. Ice floundered in the water.

Did ice float to the mill’s stream as well? Would they be able to grind the grains into flour and meal? Fish was still plentiful, but will it remain so in another month? Nicolo’s nets were not as full. Yusuf’s traps have been empty the past week.

There was enough food in the jars to keep him and Yusuf fed until spring. There was not enough to feed the village, though. Why did he not think to preserve more?

The wind whistled as Nicolo twisted, his torso turning, his sword slashing. It caught light as Nicolo held it high.

Jamir, the mill owner’s youngest son lost his right foot in the attack. The young man clung to Izem as the village butcher sawed the mangled foot off. He did not cry. Izem told Jamir he was very brave. But Nicolo feared the boy would not survive the month. They had already buried his older brother last week even though Yusuf applied his family pumice on the sword wound across his back. The fever from the injury took Shamul away.

An arrow had pierced Nicolo’s navel. No one saw and his wounds healed within minutes.

Shifa still grieved for her mother. She stayed with Kahima, silently crying as she helped the baker ground the flour to make meal for everyone.

Yusuf died. But then he was back by Nicolo’s side in battle before Nicolo worried too long.

Steel sang as Nicolo pulled the sword downwards into a death blow.

With a clear _clang_ , a curved blade met Nicolo’s sword.

Nicolo lifted his eyes and found silent brown ones.

Yusuf nodded, just once, and took a step back.

Nicolo nodded as well. And then charged.

Longsword and scimitar struck with a ringing sound that hurt Nicolo’s ears. The edges whined as they slid away from each other, blades briefly making music until they jumped apart.

The next blow was lower, both caught in a downward arc. Yusuf grimaced. He must have felt the same twinge Nicolo felt on impact. But Yusuf only shook his left hand, switched his grip on the blade to his right hand. He feinted to the left, his eyes narrowing when he saw Nicolo was not fooled.

Nicolo made for the right, jerked left and then surged forward to the right anyway.

But Yusuf was waiting. Because he has seen this move before: in front of crumbling city walls, standing on blood drenched desert sands.

Sword and blade met halfway, so sharp, Nicolo was surprised there were no sparks. Their blades slid against each other again, a thin note of metal on metal as Yusuf and Nicolo leapt back.

Breathing hard, Nicolo stared across to Yusuf. He was short of reaching distance, but close enough to realize sometime during their exchange, his sword found a way past Yusuf’s defenses. A pink tinged rip marred the hem of Yusuf’s gray tunic. The edge hung half way onto Yusuf’s shirt, dangling over the jut of his pelvis. Smooth toned brown skin peeked through. The skin was stained with drying blood.

Nicolo opened his mouth to apologize when Yusuf tipped his head, his eyes downwards. Nicolo blinked at the blood stained rent around his left knee and went up the side of his hip.

Yusuf made a sheepish face, shrugging, but did not speak. He tracked Nicolo as Nicolo circled around, his longsword held loosely in his double grip.

With wordless agreement, they charged again.

Their swords clashed once more. They sounded louder, sharper in the cold air. Nicolo felt the breeze of a blade zipping past his ear. There was a moment when he was tempted to lean into the blow. He wanted to see if it still hurt like he remembered it.

That stray thought startled Nicolo. He froze, suddenly unsure, missing the flash of panic on Yusuf’s face as his scimitar sailed towards him.

Nicolo roused in time. He dropped into a crouch, but not before the tip of the scimitar pierced the inside of his right elbow.

It hurt, but as soon as Nicolo glanced down the wound closed over. He thought he saw bone. He smelled his own blood. But just like that, he healed.

A weight seemed to slam over Nicolo. How easy he was spared. His immortality shield him from lasting pain. Yet people with tear-stained faces, living in broken houses were still able to rejoice they lived.

Nicolo staggered to his feet, shaking his head at the furrow on Yusuf’s brow.

Some of Hedi’s men escaped. Did they abandon their violent thirst? Did they return to destroying? Were they out there now burning homes and stealing lives? Was a faraway archer cutting down defenseless souls from a distance?

What good was his gift if the fragile lives around him still suffered?

Nicolo’s sword dropped to the ground.

Yusuf stilled. He held his scimitar loosely like it was an afterthought. He studied Nicolo from across the small patch of land. The fig trees were to his back. The stream was behind Nicolo.

Nicolo sighed. He lowered his eyes to the ground, to his sword. There was a growing knot in his chest he could not breathe or speak around.

“I know.”

Nicolo lifted his eyes. Yusuf smiled tiredly at Nicolo.

“While I drew the maps, I realized how much of the village had fallen. I thought to myself, ‘Here I am, unscarred and healthy’ as I drew a map that was empty of so many homes. I did not realize until now the spice trader. Bahr? His home burned to the ground with him in it. Only his wife and son remained. Yet they were overjoyed to find the trader’s small pestle and mill among the ashes.”

Yusuf exhaled. He wiped his bloodied blade on the yellowing and frost covered grass.

“I wept on my ride home. The beast was not pleased I left tears on its mane and would not move another step until I stop.”

Nicolo should say something. He should offer the comforting words Yusuf always offered him.

“ _Hobi_ ,” Yusuf rasped. “I understand.” He slipped the scimitar back into its sheath strapped across his shoulders. “I have not felt ashamed of my immortality like this before.”

Nicolo stared down at the ground again. The lump in his chest pushed up to his throat.

The grass crunched and snapped under Yusuf’s boots as he drew closer.

“My heart,” Yusuf murmured as he drew Nicolo into the warm, affirming circle of his embrace.

Nicolo closed his eyes. He gulped. He still could not speak. They stood there in silence.

Yusuf’s beard brushed against Nicolo’s jaw.

“Nicolo. My Nicolo. Let us go back inside. I will later weep for the both of us. But for now, inside. Your skin is like ice. Inside and we will talk. Yea?”

Nicolo dropped his head into the curve of Yusuf’s shoulder. He nodded.


	49. (Yusuf) - Somewhere outside of Alexandria, 12th century

Nicolo started shivering as soon as their home came to sight. He leaned into Yusuf, a short huff from his gray lips as he stumbled towards the door.

Yusuf had originally wanted to chide Nicolo. He had returned to a flock of chickens gathered by the foot of the door. They squawked when Yusuf opened the door, blinking at the feathers floating about the house. There was feed scattered across the floor. And an egg on the middle of their mattress. 

The traps were not back. Nor were the nets from the stream hung over the hearth to dry. And Nicolo’s sword was missing. Yet his heavy cloak was crumpled on their bed next to the blanket.

This morning, Yusuf’s chest ached when Nicolo quietly said he should stay behind and check the nets and traps. It did not escape Yusuf’s notice the distant look in Nicolo’s eyes. Nicolo did not appear to remember they only set the nets and traps just before they break fast.

Nicolo’s sword rattled as Nicolo tried to put it into the jar. He made a face, shoulders slumping in defeat when Yusuf took the sword and did it for him.

The fire in the hearth was gone by the time Yusuf returned from the village, but the room was still comfortably warm. Now, there was a chill that sat painfully on Yusuf's skin.

A bowl of grain on the table had congealed into a solid lump. One hen was poking fruitlessly at the contents, but gave up before Yusuf shooed it away. He had left the bowl within the hens' pen after he herded them out. The feathers and fluff still floating about the house would be dealt with later.

“Sit,” Yusuf coaxed, pushing Nicolo down the edge of the bed. He gestured to Nicolo to undress while he filled another pot with water they collect from the stream. He tossed in the shards of wood the village could not use. They would need to strip the fig trees for more soon.

Yusuf shuddered as he pulled off his tunic and folded it over a chair. He will have to repair it later.

When the fire grew tall, heat pouring out of the hearth, Yusuf turned back to Nicolo. He blinked.

“What are you doing?” Yusuf rasped.

Nicolo sat completely nude on the edge of the bed. He lifted his eyes at Yusuf’s voice. He blinked as well.

“Oh,” Nicolo said dazed. “I thought you...” His broad shoulders lifted and dropped too quickly. “I do not mind.”

“I do,” Yusuf said gently, “if all you feel is that you would not object.”

Yusuf crossed to Nicolo. He reached behind Nicolo for the rolled up fur pelts Nicolo set between their bed and wall for protection from the chill. They never used it as Yusuf had originally hoped to.

The pelts unfurled in a gleaming plane of satin like fur and warm silk. The undersides that Yusuf combed and stretched carefully, was soft like worn leather.

Nicolo twitched, breathing out a surprised, “Oh” when Yusuf wrapped the pelts around Nicolo’s shoulders. Nicolo shrugged his shoulders into the pelts, his fingers digging into the fur. He looked dazed as he felt the soft pelts.

Yusuf pulled the woven blanket around Nicolo as well.

“Better?” Yusuf asked. He was heartened Nicolo’s skin did not feel as chilled as before. He was not sure how long Nicolo was out there. But their sword fight was not enough to keep the chill from settling gray under Nicolo’s skin. He rubbed the furs and blanket up and down Nicolo’s arms.

Nicolo shivered again. He touched the furs. He blinked up at Yusuf as if seeing him for the first time.

“Wait here.” Yusuf brushed a knuckle under Nicolo’s shadowed eye.

“Wait,” Nicolo protested as Yusuf turned away. Stiff fingers struggled to curl around Yusuf’s wrist. He seemed surprised he could not.

Yusuf closed the layers of fur and blanket tighter around Nicolo.

“In a moment,” Yusuf promised. “Tea.”

Despite the heat filling the space, Yusuf felt his skin prickling across the back of his bare shoulders. Perhaps Nicolo was right to be concerned over the animals who reside on the other side of the hearth. Then again, they fared the sudden chill without complaint and Nicolo spoiled them by letting them run amuck in their home. They are fine. The accursed beast even viewed the woven grass mat Yusuf threw over it with distaste rather than gratitude. Ingrate.

The mint tea’s warm steam wafted up to Yusuf’s face as he carried the two cups over. He pressed one cup into Nicolo’s unsteady hands, waiting until Nicolo gave him a jerky nod. He only then pull away to drink from his own cup.

The exercise was a welcomed distraction, but the moment they stopped, Yusuf was aware of how brittle the cold made his limbs feel. He shifted closer to Nicolo as he drank. By the time he finished his tea, he found himself under the layers, his bare shoulder bumping against Nicolo’s.

Tea finished, cups set aside, Yusuf found the words have left him as they have Nicolo. Yet feeling Nicolo pressed against him, sharing the warmth of the layers, thawed his insides if not his words.

Yusuf slipped an arm around Nicolo’s shoulders. Nicolo sagged against him. His long hair, past the cut of his jaw, felt stiff with frost even though the hair felt dry.

They sat there, both staring at nothing. The hearth's fire crackled, filling in the silence.

“Are we doing enough?” Nicolo suddenly said. His voice was raspy as if from disuse.

“The village?” Yusuf asked. “Or everything?” Nicolo stilled against him. “You are thinking we can do more.”

“You think we can not?” Nicolo breathed deep. “People died, Yusuf.”

“People die all the time. Even us,” Yusuf murmured. He tugged the layers tighter over their shoulders. Nicolo pulled his legs up, he turned half curled into Yusuf.

“But we come back. They can not.” Nicolo brushed a hand down Yusuf’s trousers. Yusuf shivered. Nicolo’s hand was cold.

Yusuf captured both of Nicolo’s hands. He pulled them to his mouth and breathed warm air over the stiff fingers.

“You have not felt this way in a long time,” Yusuf murmured. He exhaled over Nicolo’s hands again. He watched Nicolo’s hands curl and uncurl in his grasp. “I admit. I too felt guilty at my ability to return even after so much. I can not help wishing if only I could share what I have with them.”

But a small, secret part of Yusuf knew he grateful to have eternity with Nicolo. He caught the gaze Nicolo threw at him and knew Nicolo felt the same.

“Perhaps it is why we feel guilty once again,” Nicolo thought out loud. “We helped, but we never stayed. We took up swords to defend, but not to fight for what we believed. We helped some, but not all.”

“You wish to fight in wars, _hobi_?” Yusuf sighed. 

“Did we not leave such life in such places to avoid wars?” They had both agreed they have seen enough bloodshed and contributed too much of it.

“We fought,” Nicolo pointed out. His hands twitched in Yusuf’s hold. “We first fought against each other. Then side by side.”

Nicolo sagged further against Yusuf.

“I just do not think it is enough,” Nicolo admitted. “We can not die. We agreed it was a sign we should not raise our swords to each other again. But what if it meant we lift our swords together?”

“We already do,” Yusuf reminded Nicolo.

Nicolo exhaled sharply. “When the need arises and crosses our path. But how many more out there need such help?”

Yusuf peered down, but all he could see was the tip of Nicolo’s nose, the stray curl of mahogany hair.

“You think we should leave? Even before anyone suspects us?”

Nicolo nodded, stopped and sighed.

“Should I not have said anything?” Nicolo leaned into Yusuf. He stared at their table, but Yusuf doubted Nicolo truly saw it.

Yusuf kneaded Nicolo’s hands in his grasp as he mulled over Nicolo’s words.

“The village needs help,” Yusuf said at last. “This winter will be hard for everyone.”

“Of course.” Nicolo nodded against Yusuf’s shoulder. He stared out to their door. He nodded again, his jaw flexing. “We should stay.”

“Only until the lands thaw.”

Nicolo tipped his head up, his eyes questioning.

“I would like to stay past the winter,” Yusuf said. He tapped his chin against Nicolo, his beard gently brushing across the furrowed brow.

Nicolo exhaled. He turned his head and stared at the pendant that hung around Yusuf's neck.

"Yusuf," Nicolo murmured. "Do not decide based on what you think I want."

Yusuf dropped a kiss on top of Nicolo's head. 

“No. You misunderstand. You echoed what troubles my heart. We have this gift that we can use out there. Staying and waiting for the women does not work. Not any more.” Yusuf nodded to himself. “We should seek those who need our help, not wait for them to find us.”

Nicolo tugged his hands free from Yusuf’s grasp. He sighed.

“You do not mind?” Nicolo asked. He was quiet, deliberately even to not reveal how he felt.

Yusuf felt a well of affection for Nicolo. He hummed as he curled his arm tighter around Nicolo.

“This place has been good to us,” Nicolo ventured. “You even see it as a...home, yes?”

“I would miss many from here,” Yusuf sighed. He left unsaid the sorrow he felt that parting was inevitable though.

“There are many good people,” Nicolo agreed. “I am glad we helped.”

“But it is not home.”

Yusuf smoothed a thumb over the pendant around his neck. By now, he could make out the lines Nicolo etched into the smooth plating without looking.

“The sun,” Yusuf read out loud. “The moon.” He kissed the top of Nicolo’s head. “And the stars.”

Nicolo reached over, his fingertips gracing over Yusuf’s thumb. The pendant spun. It was warm from Yusuf’s body. It stayed warm from Nicolo’s heart.

Yusuf curled Nicolo’s fingers and the pendant within a loose fist.

“You are my home, _hobi_ ,” Yusuf said, “As I am yours. It does not matter where we go, home is where you are, where I lay down with you.”

Yusuf squeezed Nicolo’s fingers once more before releasing them. Freed, Nicolo’s fingers lingered over his pendant.

“It is the same for me,” Nicolo murmured. “I will miss this house, this land, the people, but it does not matter where we stay.” He lowered his head and let his lips trace around the edges of Yusuf’s clavicle.

Yusuf breathed deep, shivering under Nicolo’s gentle mouth. He cupped the back of Nicolo’s head, guiding him lower.

“You are home, Yusuf,” Nicolo whispered. He kissed a hardening nub, again when Yusuf’s breath stuttered.

“The sun, the moon,” Yusuf moaned. Nicolo rubbed his nose into the space between his pecs, rubbing the tangled mat of chest hair as he had with the pelts Yusuf draped over him. “And the stars we share.”

“You and I,” Nicolo said as he dropped light kisses down to Yusuf’s navel.

“You and I,” Yusuf breathed. He sagged back, lightheaded and yet heavy limbed. He sank into the feather mattress, his hands light on Nicolo’s head. He gasped, short intakes of breath as Nicolo mouthed the ties on his trousers, loosing them with tugs between his teeth.

Yusuf’s cock sprang free, unabashed and flushed as soon as Nicolo parted the flaps of his trousers. Nicolo’s cheek was flushed, no longer pale with the chill. And his mouth was almost unbearably hot when Nicolo swallowed Yusuf down to the root.

“Oh, oh...” Yusuf uttered as the heat of Nicolo’s mouth overtook the warmth from their hearth. Yusuf’s hips rocked up, his cock slipping deeper into the flex and wet of Nicolo’s throat.

Nicolo’s hair fell forward, the tips brushing along the thin skin in the fold of Yusuf’s leg. Nicolo’s mouth was wet and hot as it surrounded Yusuf’s sex, his tongue a rough contrast to the softness of the inside of Nicolo’s mouth.

Yusuf stared up at the ceiling, his breathing ragged as the soft and warm rolling sensations around his cock continued. Nicolo was quiet, his exhales barely making a sound each time he pulled halfway off Yusuf’s cock. His hands framed Yusuf’s hips, his fingers kneading muscle as he suckled.

There was nothing rushed about the way Nicolo’s lips traveled Yusuf’s length. There was a sense of fragility in the way Nicolo hollowed his cheeks around Yusuf’s erection, small wet sounds and gentle touches.

“My home...” Yusuf stuttered, “My h-heart...” He arched, carefully, up into Nicolo’s mouth, into the wet heat of Nicolo’s throat.

Nicolo tipped his eyes up to Yusuf, a blue gray that flickered with such light.

Yusuf whined in his throat when Nicolo pulled away from his cock. Yusuf could not speak as he watched Nicolo crawl up his body, kissing his belly, his sternum, his pendant as he went.

“Yusuf,” Nicolo whispered. His cock was a beautiful weight gliding against Yusuf’s damp cock. He arched, his belly sinking as he rocked along Yusuf’s body. He dropped over Yusuf, trembling as he lay across Yusuf’s middle.

“Anything,” Yusuf promised. He caressed the bony ridge of a pelvis with his knuckles. He palmed a cheek. His stomach clenched, his heart thumping when Nicolo caught his hand and guided it further behind to the swirl of muscle that marked his taint.

Yusuf almost spilled the bottle of oil they keep by the bed on a rope looped over a peg above their heads. Yusuf cursed they did not find another place within better reach. But his grumblings fled as soon as his slicked fingers slipped into Nicolo.

Preparation was slow. Yusuf was painfully hard by the time two fingers worked Nicolo loose. Oil trickled out onto Yusuf’s belly.

Nicolo clenched around Yusuf’s fingers. Again and again. He kept his gaze fixed to Yusuf. He was still silent, only shuddering when Yusuf’s fingers rubbed that place in Nicolo.

"Yusuf," Nicolo whispered. "I feel...strange...greedy...I-I want more, but I do not know-what is this feeling?"

Yusuf twisted his fingers. He abruptly stabbed them deeper.

Nicolo's breath caught. His eyes went heavy with lust. 

Ah, Yusuf recognized this. Nicolo's flushed face mirrored something dark and intense that often swirled in the pit of Yusuf's belly. He had ignored it, afraid to give into an instinct that he knew might frighten them both. Nicolo was right: it was a greedy feeling. 

Perhaps it was time to indulge.

"Yusuf?" Nicolo rubbed his jaw along Yusuf's chest, his body fidgeting, tempting Yusuf to heed his own hunger instead.

Yusuf's fingers darted deeper, across that spot and oh, how Nicolo looked as he gasped, startled by his own response.

“Perhaps you want to ride me, _hobi_?” Yusuf rasped as he watched Nicolo ground his flushed length over Yusuf’s stomach while Yusuf explored him so intimately. He quickened his strokes, pressing into Nicolo's body with bruising efficiency.

"This?" Yusuf murmured. "Does this soothe the strange fire that brews in your belly? That brief jolt of pain that turns into something strange and wondrous?"

Nicolo blinked at Yusuf. Yusuf stroked Nicolo’s hole with three fingers, slipping in and out faster and harder.

“Would you like me to fill you? Would you like to feel like I could never fit and that my cock would reshape you?” Yusuf murmured as he continued to pet the intimate warm places. “Would you like to straddle me, pull my cock into your body as hard and as fast as you please?”

Nicolo’s breath stuttered.

"That is it, is it not?" Yusuf crooned as he moved his fingers apart and watched Nicolo tremble, his head dropping down, his hips rearing back to take Yusuf's fingers deeper.

“Whatever you want, my heart,” Yusuf continued, his voice low, soothing as he watched Nicolo’s mouth go slack with desire. “Would you like me to just lie here, let you wring out what pleasure you desire from me?”

Nicolo pressed his flushed face over Yusuf’s heart.

“It is not greedy. I would like to watch you,” Yusuf whispered, “As you ride me, as fierce and graceful as in battle. Ride me, _hobi_. I feel so big in you. But you like that, hm? I had moved slow and careful in you because I am so big, but oh, how you cry out when I stop being so gentle.”

“I will not break,” Nicolo said, his breath torture as it skimmed over Yusuf’s skin. His nipple pinched, sharpened under Nicolo’s chin.

“I do not believe it,” Yusuf murmured. “Show me, Nicolo di Genova. Here. I dare you. I am yours to use.”

How his Nicolo’s eyes flared. A luminous blue gray fire that burned brighter as Nicolo straightened, his hips shifting, his cock leaking beautiful trails onto Yusuf’s belly.

“Oh,” Yusuf moaned as he felt Nicolo’s sacs brushing down his engorged length. He guided his cock, his hands shook so much, into the oil-slicked entrance. Yusuf drew up his knees, his thighs touching Nicolo’s back. Nicolo was sweating, trembling as he hitched up his hips, his exhales short and fluttering as Yusuf cradled his hips and eased him down.

Somehow, Nicolo felt tighter like this, squeezing the head of Yusuf’s cock. But Nicolo’s weight soon pulled him down over Yusuf’s cock. There was a wet _pop_ as the blunt tip breached Nicolo with little resistance. Yusuf wanted to weep as Nicolo’s dark heat surrounded him with such a possessive hold.

“Nicolo,” Yusuf breathed. His hands stayed on Nicolo’s hips, but only to touch, to follow as Nicolo shakily lifted up his hips, a sloppy sound as he then eased down, more, more, until—

“Yusuf,” Nicolo exhaled when Yusuf was completely in. Nicolo’s eyes slid closed, his mouth parted. His legs shook trying to keep him upright. Nicolo’s body shuddered as he struggled to fit around Yusuf’s erection.

Yusuf could only sob. The heat, the grip was too much yet not enough. He would never have enough of Nicolo stretched around him.

But then Nicolo began to move and Yusuf craved more of that.

The pace started slow, cautious. Nicolo’s eyes cracked open, but unseeing as he rocked into Yusuf’s cock and eased out only halfway. Yusuf rubbed Nicolo’s flank, his ankles, the dark tangle of coarse hair between Nicolo’s legs.

Yusuf’s hands flopped to the sides when Nicolo began to pick up speed.

“Oh...Nic—Oh...” Yusuf babbled as Nicolo rolled his hips and bear down. Then Yusuf could say nothing at all as Nicolo slammed down over his cock. Again. Harder. Again. Deeper.

Yusuf blindly gripped Nicolo’s thighs. He swayed, buoyed by the feather mattress, bucking under Nicolo’s feverish movements. The weight of his _hobi_ on him left him dizzy, head spinning as his cock pushed in and slipped out of the tightest sweet heat he has ever known.

“You...Nicolo—my N-n—oh, you are close. Yes, faster, anything you want, show me what you want me to do for you. Forever, f-forever my—“

Yusuf could not bear it anymore. His fingers dug into the firm flesh. He was sure he left bruises as he captured Nicolo as Nicolo bear down and Yusuf surged up at the same time into Nicolo.

They both cried out as their bodies collided, in a connection so deep, Yusuf’s skin felt boiled alive. He was sure they would meld together with the heat pouring out of them. He met each roll of Nicolo’s hips with a thrust that punched out a hoarse, “Yus—“ from his beloved. 

Nicolo could not finish saying Yusuf’s name as he bucked, choking as he fought to match each thrust. His cock quivered, weeping all over his and Yusuf’s bellies. He clutched Yusuf’s sides, babbling words in Arabic and lingua as he rode Yusuf’s cock. Those words were incomplete as well.

“I know,” Yusuf gasped. He felt Nicolo clenching around him, tumbling faster towards release before Yusuf. “I k-know, oh, I am almost there...take me where you go. Let me follow—Oh, there, yes, let me hear you, let me taste you...”

Nicolo threw his head back, keening as he tried to hold back his release. He wanted to wait for Yusuf, wait for Yusuf to fill him up, but he was close, closer than Yusuf could chase after.

Yusuf unclamped a hand from Nicolo’s hip. He gripped the base of Nicolo’s cock tight.

“Wait,” Yusuf breathed.

“You and I,” Nicolo stuttered. He trembled. Oh, his beautiful Nicolo, how he tried.

“You and I,” Yusuf agreed, his voice thick as a feeling billowed deep in him, pushing out.

That feeling crashed over Yusuf, ripping a shout from him. He surged up, his hips off the bed as he came, letting go to reach for Nicolo.

Nicolo clutched Yusuf’s searching hand. He came as well, with a cry that sounded like Yusuf’s name and everything else. He sobbed, still uttering incomplete words as Yusuf took over, thrusting up into Nicolo until Nicolo came again. Yusuf could roll Nicolo over, plow into Nicolo again and again, howling as he filled his beloved until he leaked simply from breathing.

But the need to curl Nicolo to him, tuck him close, over his pendant was greater. Yusuf prodded Nicolo after the other collapsed gasping over him, until Nicolo was tucked within Yusuf’s hold.

Despite Nicolo’s dazed and spent state, he somehow knew Yusuf was not done. Weak hands cradled Yusuf’s damp cock. They held Yusuf as he groaned, thrusting into the circle of Nicolo’s grasp.

“You and I. Your sun. My moon,” Yusuf whimpered. He came all over Nicolo’s hands. He leaned in to chase Nicolo’s exhales.

“Our stars,” Nicolo panted as Yusuf devoured.

“Our home,” Yusuf agreed as he rubbed damp hands all over. He felt greedy, unsated by his thirst to touch and taste. “You and I are home. No matter where we go.”

“You and I,” Nicolo gasped, like a promise, like a wonderful vow.

Yusuf pulled Nicolo to him.

“You and I,” Yusuf rasped as he kept Nicolo close to his heart.


	50. (Nicolo) - Somewhere outside of Alexandria, 12th century

A hand brushed back hair from his eyes. Gentle, not to wake him, but the touch woke him regardless.

“Ah,” Yusuf murmured. He sounded a little sad. “I did not mean to wake you. Go back to sleep.”

The smell of burnt ash and grass, however, lifted the rest of the hazy peace that surrounded Nicolo. He blinked as he rolled onto his back.

“Must you draw me every morning?” Nicolo mumbled. For once, lethargy lingered in his limbs. The soreness of their night was gone, but the heavy weight of warmth and Yusuf’s touch still clings to Nicolo’s skin.

Yusuf brushed back the lock of hair that always curled under Nicolo’s nose. It was too short to put behind his ear, but long enough to irritate Nicolo’s eyes and nose.

“Every morning, you gift me with a new look. How could I not draw it and commit it to my memory?”

Nicolo squinted one eye up at Yusuf as he rubbed away sleep from the other. Yusuf balanced the bound book on his nude lap. His fingers were smudged with charcoal again.

“I am but one man. How many new looks could I possibly offer?” Nicolo grimaced to himself. There were spots of soot all over the mattress again. Nicolo loathed to admit how much it distressed him. Yusuf teased him often by how much Nicolo secretly enjoyed how the plush mattress felt against his back.

“Many,” Yusuf crooned. He set aside his book, the charcoal tucked back into the small bag Nicolo made from a shirt that was beyond repair.

“How you look sleeping under the sun, under shadow, under the moon.” Yusuf smoothed a hand near Nicolo’s right nipple. He left smears of black on Nicolo's skin, bruises their gift would not give them. 

“I draw every day in vain hope I can capture the likeness but alas, paper is flat and you are wonderfully not.”

Nicolo’s throat worked as Yusuf continued to rub over the dusky circle of his nipple. Yusuf avoided the nub straining for touch, for Yusuf’s touch.

“Yusuf,” Nicolo murmured. “Do not tease.”

Yusuf hummed as he moved to the other one, still ignoring the sharpening nubs.

Nicolo fidgeted, trying to chase Yusuf’s fingers. He whined low when Yusuf moved his fingers down to trace his ribs instead.

Swirls of charcoal streaked down Nicolo's torso. Yusuf rumbled, his eyes bottomless and dark as he saw the marks he left on Nicolo's skin. Nicolo felt himself responding to that sound, heat pooling between his legs.

Nicolo uttered a word in his old tongue. Sure enough, Yusuf's lips parted, a pink flush on his cheeks. Yusuf always reacted like this whenever Nicolo replied in the language of his home. It was a strange response, but Nicolo found himself liking how it made Yusuf look. 

Yusuf nudged Nicolo to roll back to his side. With a contented sigh, Yusuf settled down against Nicolo’s back, his fingers still leaving strange patterns on Nicolo’s skin. His pendant was warm from where it was pressed between his chest and Nicolo’s back. It was a small patch of heat between Nicolo’s shoulders as Yusuf tugged Nicolo closer to him.

“I do not tease,” Yusuf growled against Nicolo’s nape. “You are the one who tempt me every morning, laid out like a feast to a starving man.”

“I...I do not mean to,” Nicolo panted as Yusuf’s hands skimmed over his groin, brushing fingertips down his length. Nicolo rolled his hips forward, but Yusuf's fingers skittered away, his blunt nails lightly scratching up Nicolo's flank. 

“No,” Yusuf agreed. He sounded breathless. “You never do, which makes you a sweeter torment every morning. Guileless, unintentional seduction.”

Yusuf’s pelvis jutted forward and Nicolo groaned. The heft of Yusuf’s erection was hot against the top of his cleft.

“Yusuf, I am not the one torturing right now.”

Nicolo whimpered as he heard the quiet _pop_ of the oil bottle’s cork. He quivered at the sound of oil gurgling over Yusuf’s fingers. He sighed as he felt slicked fingers slipping into him so careful and so large. He exhaled, relaxing as best he could as the fullness settled deep in him.

“Even after last night, you are still tight.” Yusuf sounded awed. His fingers twisted, already three before Nicolo had a breath to think about it. They turned, sloppy and leisurely, inside him, kneading intimate places that still made Nicolo flush thinking about it, slipping deeper, deeper...

“ _Hobi_ ,” Yusuf murmured as Nicolo arched, mewling as Yusuf’s fingers smoothed over that spot again and again. Yusuf sounded so fond, so full of warm emotion that Nicolo’s eyes pricked at the corners. A tear escaped and he cried out softly when Yusuf’s fingers abandoned him.

“Sh.” Yusuf kissed the back of Nicolo’s head.

Nicolo exhaled, another tear escaping as Yusuf’s cock settled on the rim of his entrance. Yes. Please. Yusuf pushed through, his girth nudging Nicolo’s hole to yawn around it. There was a push, a mild burn until Nicolo’s body adjusted and—

“Oh,” Nicolo moaned as Yusuf slid all the way in. Yusuf slipped in, locking with Nicolo’s body. Yusuf fit, like how they held each other. Their bodies filled the spaces of each other, dovetailed, connected.

Nicolo clenched around Yusuf's cock. Yusuf shuddered against his back.

“My heart,” Yusuf breathed. “The way you feel is a memory I could never draw but will never forget.”

Yusuf moved slowly inside Nicolo, his legs tangled with Nicolo’s, his hands sweeping all over. His hands moved over Nicolo as he thrust languidly.

Nicolo’s skin tingled, shrinking around his bones as the burning stretch in him warmed quickly into a rolling fire. He heard himself making soft sounds; needy, desperate and pleading Yusuf to go harder, deep enough to shake his bones loose from the confining grip of his own skin.

Yusuf hushed Nicolo as he swayed into Nicolo’s body. They lay like they sleep, on their sides, Yusuf pressed to Nicolo’s back, Yusuf’s arms around Nicolo’s chest and middle.

“This is what I love best,” Yusuf murmured, “You joined with my cock, your limbs trembling as I bury myself deeper. I can not see your face like this, but I can imagine from your sweet cries.”

“Yusuf...please...” Nicolo captured Yusuf's hand and held it over his heart. 

"Let me feel it here. Please..."

“How you can be this tight yet accept my cock so easily will baffle and humble me in all my days.” Yusuf’s cock pulled almost all the way out. He kissed Nicolo’s nape when Nicolo whined. “But I confess, I love this look as well...”

Yusuf snapped his hips forward, his cock plunging back into Nicolo. It fully seated in a single stroke.

“The look I hold dearest in my memory,” Yusuf gasped as he began thrusting harder, “was the look on your face when you rode me, used me for your pleasure all those months ago. When you told me—oh, Nicolo, yes, let me back in—not to go gentle with you any more.”

Nicolo choked, utter relief as Yusuf did as he promised. Yusuf held Nicolo tighter as he pounded into Nicolo, filling, stretching, claiming.

“Yu—Yu...yes, t-there... _Oh_...”

“Your unbridled dance around my cock,” Yusuf purred into Nicolo’s ear, “has kept me warm all winter. How your fire around me flared so deliciously, I did not notice spring has arrived. My sweet Nicolo, of all the looks, how you writhe in my arms is the one I hold dearest. This, is this what you want?”

Nicolo wanted to say yes. He wanted to speak. But all that spilled out of his gaping mouth were the soft pleas for more.

And Yusuf gave. Again and again. 

Yusuf was a generous man.

Nicolo roused to the sound of Yusuf drawing again. This time though, Nicolo’s head rested on Yusuf’s thigh. He fell asleep before he could crawl up to swallow Yusuf’s cock as promised.

The sticky remains of their seed on Nicolo’s stomach and legs were cleaned off while he slept. And the pelts were tucked around Nicolo’s nude form.

Yusuf continued sketching large strokes that filled the entire paper. However, his other hand was tangled within Nicolo’s hair. He massaged Nicolo’s scalp, almost absentmindedly as he draws.

“What are you drawing now?” Nicolo mumbled. He tipped his eyes up. He felt heavy limbed, too lost within the soft furs on his skin to move. The soreness was regrettably gone, but it left him fuzzy and lazy. He was content to curl under the furs and sleep the rest of the morning away. 

Yusuf’s fingers gave Nicolo’s head another small scratch before pulling away.

“I am drawing our home,” Yusuf murmured. He tilted his sketch towards Nicolo. “And how you look in it.”

Yusuf did not sound sad. Nicolo lifted his gaze higher and found the same in the smile on Yusuf’s face. Still, Nicolo’s chest twinge.

“I do not remember all the places we have stayed,” Nicolo said. He rubbed his cheeks on the bristly hairs on Yusuf’s leg. “But it would be nice to have a drawing of this one.”

Yusuf hummed. He went back to drawing and Nicolo could only see the leather cover now. It was Yusuf’s second book, a gift to mark the new year and the completion of the last home in the village. Nicolo bound it with the leather from an old saddle from one of the village’s aging horses. It was too old to be ridden anymore and its master perished in the attacks. Now, it chewed grass by the mill and entertained the village’s young.

“I want to remember our time here,” Yusuf murmured. “And the joy we found in each other.”

Nicolo settled his head back over Yusuf’s thigh. He brushed a hand over Yusuf’s knee.

Yusuf stroked Nicolo’s hair. It felt nice.

“We do not have to leave yet,” Nicolo quietly offered. “We have yet to decide on a direction to travel.”

Yusuf’s hand stilled in Nicolo’s hair.

Nicolo waited.

“We will find a direction,” Yusuf said. He stroked Nicolo’s hair, down his back and left his hand on Nicolo’s shoulder.

Nicolo kissed Yusuf’s knee. “Yes, we will. This world needs more good. It can not be all death and sorrow.”

“There was a time I did not believe that,” Yusuf murmured. “But finding you convinced me there is still good to be found.”

Yusuf gently tugged Nicolo’s hair. He brushed a thumb across Nicolo’s brow.

“We will leave this place but bring the joyous memories with us,” Yusuf continued.

Nicolo pressed his eyes to Yusuf’s thigh.

“When we were in Cairo.” Nicolo hesitated. “I stopped believing someone like me could do good.”

Yusuf’s hand dropped on the top of Nicolo’s head. The weight was reassuring.

“You helped me accept myself,” Nicolo croaked. He leaned up into Yusuf’s hand. “Finding you always by my side made me believe I can do some good again.”

“We found a new purpose with the world,” Yusuf said. He briefly squeezed Nicolo’s shoulder. “We will find a direction.”

“Together,” Nicolo whispered.

Yusuf echoed it with another squeeze of Nicolo’s shoulder.


	51. (Yusuf) - Somewhere outside of Alexandria, 12th century

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's weird. I was feeling emotional the first time I posted this over at the meme. Yet second time around, here I am feeling emotional again.

The bloodied arrow was all too familiar.

Yusuf caught Nicolo’s grimace before his expression went deliberately blank. No doubt Nicolo recalled pulling a similar arrow out of his body. Nicolo never mentioned where the unknown archer struck him, but Yusuf caught Nicolo patching far too many holes on the back of his tunic before admitting defeat. Yusuf had burned the tunic and stomped on its ashes since he could not enact vengeance on the archer himself. Nicolo said nothing about it nor did he protest when Yusuf held him too tight that evening.

“...three days’ ride from here,” Izem said, unaware of Yusuf and Nicolo’s thoughts. The young man turned the arrow with its yellow striped quiver in his hands.

“This was lodged in the boy’s back,” Izem said with a scowl. “He was fortunate he was on a fast horse when he fled with his sister. He would not have survived otherwise. The arrow would have pierced them both.”

“What coward would shoot a fleeing innocent's back? A child no less,” Yusuf muttered as he accepted the arrow.

“Then they still attack,” Nicolo exhaled. “I hoped their defeat here would discourage them.”

“The cold winter stayed their swords but their greed revived at the thaw.” Yusuf turned the arrow. “You are certain these arrows are the same?” He knew they were. He still remembered the cold sting as one pierced his throat from afar. But the arrows in the village were used as kindling for the winter, the tips melted down for their metal. None remained.

“I pried one out of my dearest friend’s heart,” Izem said. He darkened, frowning. “He was like a brother to me. I remember what evil device fell him.”

Yusuf pressed his lips together. The attack aged Izem. Less then a year ago, Yusuf thought of Izem as a boy, a child compared to their years. It was distressing to now see Izem referring to another as a boy. Violence and pain added years to his soul before they appear on the skin.

Nicolo was right. It should not just be blood and sorrow for them.

“In which direction did they come from?” Nicolo asked. He took the arrow from Yusuf. He considered the tip. “This was forged with great skill.”

Izem gave it some thought and then pointed to where the sun descends.

“North?” Izem ventured in haltering Arabic. He checked with Yusuf.

“West,” Nicolo corrected in Yusuf’s place.

“Ack,” Yusuf grumbled, “You two still pronounce words like screeching cats. Have pity on my ears.” To Izem, Yusuf pretended to scowl.

“Have you forgotten my lessons already?”

Izem grinned sheepishly and he was that young man scratching words in the dirt with a stick again.

“So,” Nicolo said carefully. His eyes drifted over to Yusuf. “We go west? We may find where these men will go next. We can stop them.”

“We should find the archer first,” Yusuf added. “He hides from a distance. Any attack depended on his success to catch the opposition unaware.”

Izem made a sound. “Then you are leaving.” He sadly considered Yusuf and Nicolo. “We all hoped this would be your home.”

Yusuf exchanged a private smile with Nicolo. Nicolo nodded.

“We would be honored to call this place our home.” Nicolo returned the arrow to Izem. “But first, Yusuf and I must find these men who destroy homes of others.”

Izem looked disappointed, but he nodded.

“Things happen for a reason,” Nicolo said quietly. “To have these siblings find your village despite them having fled blindly is an event Yusuf and I can not ignore.”

Yusuf thought about what they talked about yesterday. This was the direction and purpose they needed, to do the good they both hoped.

“Will I see you two again?” Izem appeared hopeful.

Yusuf clapped a hand on Izem’s shoulder. He was startled to feel muscle under his hand. Izem was no longer the thin boy who stared shyly after them.

“Perhaps,” Yusuf demurred, unwilling to lie but knew he should not promise.

“We all owe you a great debt,” Izem said. He sounded wistful. “I regret we do not know how we can ever repay you.”

Yusuf glanced over his shoulder.

“...well, there is one thing you can do for us.”

The horse tried to bite him again.

"Ah, ah, ah!" Yusuf sputtered. He hopped back, bumping into Nicolo as he avoided the snapping teeth. "Do not be this discourteous with your new masters!"

"Yusuf," Nicolo murmured. He stepped up to the horse, patting the narrow head as he glanced over to Yusuf. "Are you sure?"

Yusuf grunted as he shooed the chickens into the pen Izem built. Efe was happy to take in the dozen hens and chicks. He lost all of his own flock in the attack. 

The brown speckled hen ignored the new pen. It tottered over and affectionately pecked Yusuf's boot.

"We can not taken the hens with us," Yusuf murmured. "They would better serve the village."

"They are good birds." Nicolo crouched down. He gingerly sprinkled the last of the feed on the ground. He watched with a small smile as a few hens eagerly hopped around him, wings flapping as they went.

"But my question is not of them." Nicolo looked over his shoulder at the horse. It chomped on a piece of fruit Izem offered.

"Are you sure you wish to leave him here?"

Yusuf grunted. "That beast would toss me into the sands the moment we try to cross the desert." It was no place for a horse used to the slow pace of their previous days.

"Besides," Yusuf continued, not turning around when the horse neighed, "the village needs every animal's strength. Even one as lazy as that one."

Nicolo slipped a hand over Yusuf's right knee under the shadow of their bodies.

"The bandits left plenty of horses behind when they fled." Nicolo squeezed Yusuf's knee, pulling away before someone sees. "The mill owner even offered us a strong mare so we can both ride."

Yusuf grunted again.

Behind them, Izem yelped, trying to avoid a kicking hoof.

"We only know to go West," Yusuf murmured under his breath. "And how many deaths you and I will experience as we travel is unknown." Yusuf exhaled. "That cursed beast, as stubborn and ornery as it is, only has one. The moment we fall, it will be doomed to fall in the hands of our adversaries. We would rise again, but..."

Yusuf shrugged. He petted one of the hens with a crooked finger. Nicolo sighed. He watched the chickens hop and hobble into the new pen.

"You are right, of course," Nicolo said. He bumped his shoulder to Yusuf's.

"But I am sorry."

"Bah," Yusuf muttered. He clapped his hands on his thighs to shake the dust free. He rose to his feet, his eyes firmly forward, not looking as Izem coaxed the horse to move. It refused. "I look forward to the peace and quiet."

"We should go," Yusuf said. Perhaps louder than necessary because Nicolo startled next to him. "There is much to pack in our home. We have finished what we came here to do."

"We will miss you," Izem said. He held tight to the beast's reins. "We will always welcome both of you."

"Thank you," Nicolo murmured. He stroked the horse's nose. "Please take care of it."

"Of course," Izem promised.

"Do not embarrass me," Yusuf told the horse. He abruptly turned his shoulder, facing the way back to their home for the last time.

"I wish you all peace," Nicolo bade. He lingered, murmuring farewells to Izem's mother, to the few who came over the baker's home to offer well wishes and safe passage.

The horse's nose bumped behind Yusuf's shoulder.

"You are better staying here," Yusuf muttered. He kept his eyes towards the path out of the village. "I relish no longer fearing your teeth."

A whinny ruffled Yusuf's hair in the back. Yusuf set his jaw.

"I am ready," Nicolo rejoined Yusuf.

"I am as well," Yusuf said out loud. He started walking, slowing when he realized Nicolo needed to hurry his steps to catch up.

Behind Yusuf, a neigh rang out.

"Yusuf," Nicolo murmured.

"It is fine," Yusuf bit out. He wished Nicolo would walk faster. There was much to do at the house. They agreed the dwelling should be shuttered properly so someone could use it if they happen upon it.

The village smoothed out to the mixture of dirt and sand. The path widened and rolled out before Yusuf. He widened his stride, eager to reach the house before dark. Nicolo followed a step behind. He was silent.

Yusuf abruptly stopped.

Nicolo stepped up to Yusuf.

"I will wait here," Nicolo murmured.

Yusuf nodded jerkily, turned on his heel and marched back to the village.

"Not a word," Yusuf warned as he slowed his horse by Nicolo. He clicked his tongue, urging the other horse trailing behind him to move forward. It considered Nicolo with its soft brown eyes before it trotted up to Nicolo.

Nicolo nodded, but Yusuf caught the tiny upturned corner of his mouth as he climbed up onto the mare.

Yusuf growled. He swatted at Nicolo, whose smile turned into a low chuckle. It quickly turned into a laugh when Yusuf's horse turned around and tried to bite him again.

"Ingrate!" Yusuf sputtered. "I should have left you and only take Abeba! At least she was grateful not to be pulling a cart!"

"Abeba?" Nicolo stroked the pointed ears tipped in tan. He patted her black and gray coat.

"It means 'flower' for the pale mark on her head," Yusuf said.

"You gave my horse a name, but not yours?" Nicolo tsked.

"Oh, I thought of a name," Yusuf muttered. In front of him, his horse's ears twitched. "But I am uncertain this wretched beast is deserving of—stop that!"

Nicolo laughed again, a pure joy to behold and if his cursed horse could do that then perhaps it is of use after all.

"Let us go," Nicolo said with a final chuckle. "I wish to enjoy your strange feather bed one more time before we leave in the morning."

"Only one more time, _hobi_?" Yusuf rumbled. 

Nicolo paused. His eyes slid over to Yusuf. 

"How many times were you thinking?" Nicolo murmured.

Yusuf's mouth went dry. He cleared his throat.

"Too many to count."

Nicolo breathed out, "Ah. Then it will depend."

"On what?"

Nicolo's mouth parted, his eyes darkening.

"On how soon you can catch me."

And with a twitch of reins, Nicolo and his horse bolted pasted Yusuf.

Yusuf shouted joyously, tugging his own lines. He and his horse raced after them. Yusuf kept Nicolo in his sights all the way back to the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are close to the end, but only of this story. I can't seem to let these two go. Looking for prompts to write about them. This will not be the last you see these two. You haven't rid of me yet. Sorry. LOL.


	52. (Nicolo) - Outside of Morocco, 13th century

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I missed posting day. Snow plus lack of snow tires 🤦🏽♀️ (I thought I wouldn’t need them this year) meant a harrowing drive to work because no rest for the part time weary student.

He hastened his steps when he heard Yusuf’s voice.

“...was a brave animal. Carried us through many battles...”

Nicolo hesitated on the top of the hill and its path that led down to the little house that faced the waters. Once, it was a half-burned dwelling that faced the slopes of green and a far away sea. But it also had a working well in the back and a stream that was not too far away.

Now it stood white and gray like the dried tree husks they came across in their many travels; pieces of resilience in a harsh land. Each time Nicolo saw their small house, he thought of the other abandoned dwellings they had rebuilt and left behind for others to use. And they made him smile at the thought of him and Yusuf leaving their mark, a hint of their intertwined lives among repaired and well-cared homes.

“You came from a good line, Hamdi, your great, great—“

Nicolo chuckled when Yusuf yelped. He was certain Hamdi, like its ancestor, tried to bite Yusuf. Again.

“Bah, you really are exactly like your great, great—hm, how many greats?“

“Four,” Nicolo called out as he slid down the rest of the grassy slope. The chestnut horse with its white markings on its narrow forehead whinnied in greeting. Next to it and an upturned stool was Yusuf. And he was...

“Why are you wet?” Nicolo chuckled. But he already knew the answer from the empty bucket rolling around by Yusuf’s feet. “I said I would be happy to bathe Hamdi for you. This happens every time.”

“And with every horse you insist on naming Hamdi,” Nicolo added. He smiled at Yusuf’s scowl.

“Fine,” Yusuf grumbled to the horse. “Be filthy. When you scratch the fleas that besiege you, you can jump into the sea for all I care. Your ancestor would be embarrassed. He did not allow himself to appear so unruly.”

“You remember Hamdi quite differently these days,” Nicolo remarked as he set down his sword and his pack by the scroll on the table. They decided to build a large table under the shade of an Argan tree to enjoy the warming star-filled nights.

"With each generation, your memory of Hamdi grows more flattering. Will you be elevating him to a deity to his next generation? You once complained endlessly about him."

Yusuf grunted. “He was all right. The mares liked him.”

Nicolo scoffed. He reached up at a light green bud that hung low from the tree. The teardrop shaped fruits have started to form. Soon, it would rain. Hopefully, the fruit would swell fat and fall ripe onto the waiting baskets.

“They liked him so much I am sure the desert is mostly filled with his descendants thanks to him.”

Yusuf waggled his eyebrows at Nicolo. “There is something about a night under the moon in the desert. Do you not agree?”

Nicolo tossed a small sack at Yusuf. It bounced off Yusuf’s brow. Yusuf caught the item with both hands.

“Eh, what is this? You no longer wish to fight me with swords? You have resorted to throwing...” Yusuf’s eyes widened in delight. “Honeyed figs!”

Nicolo’s lips curled as he observed Yusuf plucking one out of the little cloth sack. He took a bite, humming happily before giving the rest to Hamdi.

“Ingrate,” Yusuf grumbled when the horse nipped his fingers as well.

“It is because you only offered half,” Nicolo said as he unwrapped his pack. “I also have mishmish.”

“Ack, a hundred and sixty years and you still pronounce words like a strangled cat.”

Yusuf snickered when Nicolo tossed the bag of stewed apricots at him as well.

“Very well, my ears do not hurt as much as before. Tell me, how did you come about these wondrous treats? Has our modest village a market at last?”

“A caravan stopped by yesterday. They were still there when I arrived to help rebuild the village’s well.”

“Anyone we should be concerned with?” Yusuf’s voice turned serious.

Nicolo shook his head. Nicolo went by the horse and patted the soft nose. Hamdi nickered, nudging Nicolo's shoulder. 

“They left shortly after. I followed them afar for a short way to be sure. They were harmless. Just full of things to trade and stories to share.”

Yusuf tracked Nicolo as he entered the house for bowls. He smiled as he fed Nicolo a piece of fig when Nicolo walked back to the table.

“I wondered why you took longer this time. You nearly missed the evening meal,” Yusuf murmured. “I thought I best clean Hamdi in case we need to come searching. You know how I dislike eating alone.”

“I would have returned before then,” Nicolo said lightly as he set the bowls around one side of the table. He stayed clear of the papers and ink on the other side of the table. “It would have taken you days to get Hamdi to agree to a bath.”

Nicolo yelped when something brown and fluffy flew towards him. He caught it and gaped at the ruffled brown mound of feathers and tiny bright eyes.

Yusuf burst out laughing, but he stopped to avoid the snapping teeth coming towards his ass.

“When did we get a chicken?” Nicolo said blankly. He hefted the hen in his hands. It was a young bird, calmer now and chirping.

“I finished Fela’s scroll this morning. Her father picked it up. He left us a basket of eggs and a young hen in exchange.”

Nicolo frowned. “That is too much. And we are not here long enough to raise chickens again.” Still, he stroked the bird. It sat in his hands, content, its brown head tucked under a wing.

“He said he would gladly take her back when we travel again,” Yusuf assured him. “Besides, we do not expect to leave until the crops are ready. I think you are right, it will be plentiful this year.”

“Good,” Nicolo said. When they came upon the village last year, tribal wars and drought left the people half-starved. With rule far away within the walls of New Fez, there was no hope of settling disputes other than among themselves. The promise of a generous Argan bounty and trade from its oil would do much to settle peace within the village.

Nicolo nudged a stone higher when a corner of the scroll started to curl. “I thought this was Fela’s scroll.” It was to be a wedding gift from her father.

“This is something else,” Yusuf said. He stayed where he was for some reason. He stared at Nicolo, his face expectant. “Go have a look.”

Eyebrow arching, Nicolo peered down at the scroll. He blinked.

“I thought we lost this,” Nicolo murmured. He followed the scroll work along the borders with his eyes. “I have not seen this since we sailed to the isles. I feared it burned with the ship.”

“It did.” Yusuf smiled faintly. “I drew another.”

Nicolo’s finger hovered over the band of leaves and vines, lingering on the falcon hidden at the corner.

“You still did not put in a happy ending,” Nicolo murmured.

“I thought we decided we would create one together, _hobi_.”

Nicolo lifted his eyes. He studied Yusuf's expression. He felt greedy, he always have, as he absorbed the marvel of Yusuf's face turned towards him with such favor. He memorized the shape of Yusuf's half-smiling mouth and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. 

Nicolo looked down at the scroll again. He thought of the carefully rolled and wrapped constellations manuscript. He had tucked in an empty plain looking scabbard to hide it from greedy hands. And he realized why almost a century later, Yusuf thought of the falcon scroll.

“Then you did dream about the women last night,” Nicolo murmured. Yusuf made no mention this morning.

“As did you,” Yusuf said. He nodded towards the table.

Nicolo gazed down. He flushed. He set down four bowls and cups without realizing it.

“They are close,” Nicolo murmured. “I recognize the rock they rode past.”

“It is the oasis where you and I...” Yusuf wrapped his arms around Nicolo from behind. He pressed his mouth to the crook of Nicolo’s shoulder. “It is a night I will remember in all our centuries.”

Nicolo flushed. “I did not have a feather bed to offer you.”

“Bah. The desert sand was silk on our backs. The moon shone above us. And you...”

Yusuf kissed up to the back of Nicolo’s ear.

“It was perfect. It was you.”

Nicolo exhaled. He carefully set down the hen and turned around in Yusuf’s arms. He buried his nose into the opened neckline of Yusuf's tunic. It was still damp, clinging to the shape of Yusuf's chest. Nicolo pressed his lips on the outline of the pendant under the tunic. Yusuf never took it off. He refused to even when they found a proper chain for it thirty years ago. Yusuf looped it around and wore both chains with it until the older one finally fell apart.

"Oh, hello, my heart," Yusuf murmured. He rubbed his beard along the side of Nicolo's face. He dropped a kiss on the mark on Nicolo's jaw. He said it was on Nicolo's face to remind Yusuf to kiss that spot and often.

"I am not worried," Nicolo muttered into Yusuf's chest. "I did not say because _you_ looked worried when you woke up this morning."

Yusuf threaded his fingers into the back of Nicolo's hair.

"Were we not done with keeping secrets from each other?" Yusuf kissed Nicolo's temples. "I was worried you were worried."

Nicolo huffed against Yusuf's shoulder. 

"You are an old fool," Nicolo exhaled. He twitched when Yusuf pinched his ass.

"I am only a few years older," Yusuf chided. "How does that make me an old fool?"

"You do silly things and talk nonsense to me and forget about your horse." 

Nicolo tilted his head higher to catching Yusuf's gaze. His breath caught when once again, Yusuf was already looking at him.

"But then you track down your horse's descendants and give one his name so you would always remember him. You copy pages of interesting stories so I could read them. You draw beautiful art whenever you fear I am living under shadow. You forgave me of all my sins..."

Nicolo could not finish. He could not meet Yusuf's eyes. He dropped his forehead into the strong crook of Yusuf's shoulder. He breathed out slowly. Now he was the one who felt like an old fool.

" _Hobi_ ," Yusuf murmured. "It is good you love old fools, yea?"

"Just one," Nicolo muttered. He straightened up and smiled faintly at Yusuf. He patted Yusuf's chest, his hand lingering on the shape of the pendant under Yusuf's shirt.

"You need a bath," Nicolo told Yusuf. He narrowed his eyes when Yusuf perked up. "Not that kind of bath. Our meal will get cold. Again."

Yusuf sighed. "Very well, I shall bathe alone by the well."

Nicolo's mouth went dry as Yusuf started undressing as he walked towards the back of the house where the well stood. "You...you are not going to the stream?"

Yusuf shrugged as he stepped out of his trousers. His back muscles rippled as he stretched his arms above his head.

Nicolo's throat worked as his eyes drifted lower and watched how Yusuf's buttocks clenched as he padded to the well, his clothes folded over a bent elbow.

Next to Nicolo, the horse snorted. It stared at Nicolo. Its ears twitched.

Nicolo blinked down at the scroll drying on the table. He looked about his surroundings at the tree, their house and the brown hen dozing on the gnarled roots of an argan tree.

Muttering to himself, Nicolo hurried.

"I thought you feared dinner would get cold," Yusuf said, delighted as Nicolo joined him by the well with their small bottle of oil.

"It will, but you can warm it up later."

"Mm, let me warm something else up first, _hobi_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hamdi means “praiseworthy.” Fingers crossed my cousin will never find out I named the horse after him. LOL.


	53. (Yusuf) - Outside of Morocco, 13th century

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic never would have existed without all of you. ❤️

It always feel like it was the first time.

Yusuf groaned as Nicolo’s cock slid in slow, careful, almost shy. Warm and slicked, asking intimate permission as Nicolo filled every empty spot in Yusuf’s soul.

“My heart,” Yusuf murmured. He clenched around Nicolo’s length. He felt Nicolo shudder. He felt Nicolo’s cock twitch inside. He felt wonderfully full even though Nicolo was not completely in yet. He watched with heavy lidded eyes, his knees gripping Nicolo’s sides as Nicolo stared back with unblinking focus. Nicolo watched for any sign of discomfort, his face flushed with the effort.

It felt endless how Nicolo’s length sank into Yusuf’s body, that slender hard heat pressing slowly, completing him until...

“Oh yes,” Yusuf groaned. “There.” That bolt of fire that lanced across the spot Nicolo always found with single-minded accuracy. Yusuf felt himself arching, his hips rolling to welcome more of Nicolo into him.

“Yusuf...” Nicolo sounded awed, humbled and tearful all at the same time. It did not matter if their first time was close to a fishing village nearly a century ago, or on the sun-warmed sands of an oasis decades after. Nicolo always treated it like the very first time with a reverence that humbled Yusuf.

Yusuf’s feet crossed at the ankles along the line of Nicolo’s spine. His heels rubbed up Nicolo’s back to soothe because he was once more too choked up for real words.

Nicolo ran his palms down Yusuf’s flanks as he leaned in further.

They both exhaled when Nicolo was fully seated.

Yusuf caught one of Nicolo’s hands. He woven their fingers together. He squeezed around the fullness and stretch inside him.

Nicolo began to thrust.

There were...words. Yusuf was certain. Did they make sense? Probably not. Did he or Nicolo care? No, definitely not.

Nicolo moved fluidly, rocking into Yusuf, his cock slipping in and out in a rolling motion that reminded Yusuf of a boat swaying over the waters or a dance only they two shared. He gasped. He sighed. He reveled in the feel of his _hobi_ burrowing deeper in him, seeking home, seeking Yusuf.

As the pace quicken—even Nicolo’s care succumb to overheated hunger eventually—Yusuf’s words crumbled into moans. And Nicolo’s silence fell apart, his mouth falling open in the beautiful syllables of his homeland.

“...love...forever...never leave...my only soul...”

Yusuf could only catch snatches. Whether it was because his head felt too heavy with lust to translate or Nicolo was babbling, it was not clear. But oh, the sight of his Nicolo flushed and feverish as he moved billowed into a heat that started in the base of Yusuf’s throat. That feeling grew, growing larger and hotter as Nicolo thrust, sinking to the pit of Yusuf’s stomach. His own cock twitched, weeping as he was pushed closer to an edge he did not want to be ready for.

“Oh,” Yusuf moaned, “Not yet. N-Nicolo...”

Nicolo’s free hand wrapped around Yusuf’s bobbing erection at the base, clamping hard just as he convulsed and spilled into Yusuf with a cry.

A cry that grew into a wail when Yusuf rolled them over. Nicolo eased out, but he was still coming, spilling down onto his own thighs when Yusuf swiftly plowed into him.

Nicolo was loose, like the many times they have done this. He had prepared himself the same time he prepared Yusuf. And as much as Yusuf enjoyed watching his Nicolo, blushing as he pressed slippery fingers into his own body, having Nicolo already open for his cock was a glorious compensation.

His _hobi_ was hot, resisting little as Yusuf’s engorged cock entered. Nicolo was sensitized, too sensitized, still coming and whimpering when Yusuf’s release filled him after only a few frantic strokes.

“Uh, uh, Yu—“ Nicolo was still barely coherent, bucking and clenching Yusuf’s cock. He keened as Yusuf’s half hard cock continued to lay claim, sleek white fluid spilling as Yusuf tried to thrust in the hard strokes Nicolo craved. Nicolo flailed, reaching for Yusuf’s hand, arching up with each thrust.

Yusuf came again with a shout. He felt sore, stretched, leaking with Nicolo's seed. He felt impossibly full and yet emptied at the same time. He found he could not stop—he never could each time they did this—spilling again when Nicolo slipped fingers into his dripping and used hole, stroking and petting as Yusuf thrust his half spent cock, his hand splayed over Nicolo’s hip.

"Nico..." Yusuf heard himself choking out. His hips ached as he moved. His heart thundered, howling for more even as his body exhausted itself, healed and grew weary once again.

Eventually, both he and Nicolo slumped against each other, gasping for breath as if they came back to life. 

A haze surrounded Yusuf’s mind, but he kept his wits about him—as best he could—and sluggishly moved. They both whimpered when Yusuf eased out.

Yusuf murmured, kissed and petted every part of Nicolo's skin as he tugged Nicolo back to him. He chuckled when Nicolo made a face, his bare foot knocking into the well and the pail they had originally intended to fill with water.

“Every time we go for a bath,” Nicolo panted, “We always need another.”

“Are you complaining, my heart?” Yusuf rumbled as he snagged Nicolo’s cloak where they draped over the well’s wall and covered them both.

Nicolo mumbled, his pink cheeks tucked into Yusuf’s chest. The pendant merrily spun and tapped his forehead.

“Eh?” Yusuf teased. He pushed back sweaty locks of Nicolo’s hair behind an ear. “I did not understand. Did you wish to voice a grievance about our baths?”

Yusuf chuckled when Nicolo bumped his head under Yusuf’s chin.

“You are like a disgruntled cat,” Yusuf murmured fondly. He stroked the back of Nicolo’s hair, his fingers combing tangles loose.

Nicolo’s teeth lightly scraped over Yusuf’s left nipple.

Yusuf gulped. He fidgeted, parting his legs to tuck Nicolo closer.

To Yusuf’s disappointment, Nicolo sat up, a hand on Yusuf’s chest.

“Dinner,” Nicolo breathlessly reminded Yusuf. “It will grow too cold. A hundred fires would not warm the stew again. And it would be a pity as this was one of your better concoctions.”

Yusuf growled, but reluctantly released Nicolo. He sat back against the well and watched Nicolo clean himself. He made a pleased sound as Nicolo patted the damp rag down his lovely pink cock and strong thighs.

“Yusuf,” Nicolo warned. A corner of his mouth twitched, though. “Dinner.”

“Yes,” Yusuf drawled as his eyes lingered on the dark swirl of Nicolo’s taint when Nicolo turned around to search for his clothing.

“I am thinking about eating,” Yusuf crooned. His hand drifted down and he cradled his sex, damp and swelling hot within the curl of his hand.

Nicolo’s head emerged out of his tunic. Sea gray eyes landed on Yusuf’s groin.

“Again?” Nicolo flushed, but averted his eyes as he laced up his trousers. “You know this was why I was late going into the village this morning.”

“Apologies,” Yusuf quipped. He rose to his feet. He was heavy between his legs again. He turned towards Nicolo as he stretched his arms above his head. He felt his cock rising in greeting, bobbing renewed and—

A clean damp rag landed on Yusuf’s face with a splatter.

“Your accuracy gets better by the day,” Yusuf grumbling as he took the rag and cleaned himself. He avoided his erection. His skin was tight around him, too tight. He suspected touching himself would be a relief edged with pain. And Nicolo hated seeing Yusuf in pain, even if it was because of...well...

“You are grinning like a fool again.” Nicolo pressed his lips together before he smiled as well. “This is the real reason why the horses constantly try to bite you.”

“Hah,” Yusuf called after Nicolo as the other padded out to the front to reheat their food. He shook his head. He patted his jaw, scratching through his beard to tame it. Ah, he was indeed grinning like a fool, but who can blame—

“ _Yusuf!_ ”

The rag dropped as Yusuf ran to the front of the house.

Nicolo stared at their door. When Yusuf reached him, Nicolo simply pointed.

Yusuf turned around. He started.

An arrow stabbed the middle of their door. A slip of parchment—from Yusuf’s papers no less—was pinned between the tip and the wood.

“We will return,” Yusuf read the note out loud. The Arabic was not perfect, but readable. He did not dare touch the arrow or paper, though. Just in case. “When you are not as busy.”

Behind Yusuf, Nicolo choked.

Yusuf’s eyebrow rose as he noticed the scrawl underneath the script. It was not as neat as the other, but the Arabic was impeccable.

“The stew needs more spice. We will bring back more meat.”

Yusuf glanced over his shoulder at Nicolo.

Nicolo gaped back.

“I-I did not hear them arrive.”

Yusuf grinned. “We were very loud.” He glowered at Hamdi trotting towards them, the hen perched on its rump.

“And why did you not warn us?” Yusuf grumbled to the beast. “What if they were assassins?”

The horse snapped its teeth.

“You are an embarrassment to your namesake,” Yusuf complained.

“Yusuf,” Nicolo said, thoughtful, “Perhaps you should go back into the house.” His eyes drifted lower. “Before you scold Hamdi more.”

Yusuf glanced down. Ah. In his haste, he did not dress.

“If there were assassins.” Nicolo said innocently, “did you hope to shock them with your appearance so I may catch them unaware?” He smiled faintly. “I see a flaw. In your plan.”

Yusuf glowered at Nicolo. “Do you not think I am distracting?” He gestured towards himself. He jutted his hips towards Nicolo, smirking when Nicolo hastily looked away.

“Sometimes,” Nicolo said primly. He tugged his tunic straight. His smile wavered.

“They were here,” Nicolo murmured. He flicked his gaze towards the hill beyond the house. “And they said they would return.”

“And so they will.” Yusuf studied Nicolo carefully and the line of his broad shoulders. Nicolo's brow furrowed.

An idea formed.

“ _Hobi_ ,” Yusuf said casually, “Do you truly think I am only distracting sometimes?”

Nicolo squinted at Yusuf. He inched back towards the house.

“There is no time for us to take another bath,” Nicolo warned. He took a step back.

“I will try to be less distracting this time,” Yusuf promised, grinning as he pounced.

“You are fortunate you have the other shirt,” Yusuf told Nicolo as he dressed. He sat back on their bed. There was something satisfying how his muscles felt sore, holding a pleasant weariness as a reminder when their skin would not even keep the red flush of a bruising kiss.

“If this is your way of gloating about buying the new tunic for me,” Nicolo grumbled as he laced up his trousers. Again. 

“It is flattering on you,” Yusuf murmured. He admired the tan linen with its azure stitching as it moved, the neckline falling open to the lines of Nicolo’s clavicle.

“My other shirt was still good,” Nicolo pointed out. “There was no need to replace it.”

Yusuf cleared his throat. He nodded towards the now shredded fabric on the floor.

“We need a new wash cloth anyway,” Yusuf offered under Nicolo’s glower. Yusuf scratched his beard. He tried to look repentant. 

“Did you have to tear it?” Nicolo sighed as he crossed over to their hearth to stir the reheated stew.

“You were taking too long to undress. I simply helped,” Yusuf reminded Nicolo. “We needed to be ready for dinner later, remember?” He waggled his eyebrows at the narrowed eyes. Even angry, Nicolo was a sight to behold.

Nicolo huffed. He turned back to stir the contents in the kettle. 

"I will not forget this," Nicolo grumbled.

"Oh, I hope not," Yusuf said, low. "Especially how I took you up against the wall. I will never forget how you screamed."

Back towards Yusuf, Nicolo fidgeted. Yusuf chuckled.

"Yusuf," Nicolo sighed. He lifted the lid, stirring the stew. He sniffed as steam wafted up.

"The note was right. I think it does need more spice," Nicolo mused. He gave the stew another stir. 

Yusuf bristled. "No it does not. I take offense."

Nicolo snorted. Suddenly, he stiffened.

"...Yusuf."

“I sense it as well...They are here,” Yusuf murmured. He felt the same tightening sensation in his chest, his heart racing as if he was running. He looked at their door.

“Yusuf.” Nicolo stared at the door as well, tensing as if expecting it to burst open.

Yusuf swallowed, his throat constricting. Decades of dreaming yet it felt like it was not real that it was finally happening. He wiped his palms on his trousers. When he looked over at Nicolo, something twinge inside him as he considered Nicolo's frozen expression. Nicolo did not seem to realize the wooden spoon he held dripped hot stew on his right boot.

“You and I,” Yusuf said softly. 

Nicolo looked over, blinking as if he only now remembered Yusuf was there. 

Yusuf walked over and took Nicolo's hand. It was cold.

The touch roused Nicolo. He blinked again, pale eyes deepening to the color of a winter sky. He straightened up, his shoulder brushing against Yusuf’s. His hand still felt cold, but the terse line of his mouth softened.

It did not matter what will come of all this. Yusuf was certain. No matter what happens, he and Nicolo will have a wonderful future to share. Whether with four or just the two of them.

Yusuf squeezed Nicolo’s hand.

Nicolo squeezed back. He smiled faintly. His other hand was steady as he brushed back an unruly lock of hair. He exhaled, a low quiet sound and it soothed Yusuf. Yusuf breathed out as well, not realizing until now he had held his breath. 

Yusuf brought up Nicolo's hand and kissed his knuckles. 

Nicolo reached over and touched the pendant Yusuf pulled out from his shirt. He gave the metal a careful stroke, cleaning it. Yusuf could see from the reflection in Nicolo's eyes that it shone like a star.

“You and I,” Nicolo echoed. 

Together, they walked out the door, towards the two faraway figures strolling down the hill at them, towards a future they will share no matter the outcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story I owe it all to the kink meme, to all of you reading it and to my long suffering cousin Hamdi, who always picked me up from work no matter how late and whom I pray will never read this and discover I named a horse after him. LOL.
> 
> You notice there was a gap before they met Andy and Quyhn. Yes, there will be a story about that. And yes, I will post the following fic of them all meeting. 
> 
> Soon. I realized it needs to deal with _a lot_ upon meeting. More than a one-chapter epilogue could cover. 
> 
> It just felt like this story started with Yusuf and Nicolo and should end with Yusuf and Nicolo. You and I, indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> Note: I very much doubt my Wiki and Googling will be enough to fortify the history and details. I apologize in advance for the grievous errors I know will be found here. Nevertheless, I hope this fills the prompt.
> 
>   
> \-------------
> 
> I dedicate this to the mods and readers of the TOG Kink Meme. You guys have been incredibly supportive and patient with me. So much love to all of you!


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